


Uncertainty

by Open_Sky



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I love fairy tales, I think it will have a happy ending, I'd give Nobel Prize to the person who had first said 'writer's block is a bitch', I'm Bad At Summaries, It is so true, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon/Dany centric, My First Fanfic, Slow Burn, and in everything else tbh, btw sorry if it's bad, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:38:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Open_Sky/pseuds/Open_Sky
Summary: *THIS FIC IS PUT TO REST RIGHT NOW. IDK IF I'LL FINISH IT.*I don't know what this is. Something like an alternative seventh season. Jonerys centered, picks up the Dragonstone line in chapter 4.People need to work together now more than ever. As the Army of the Dead approaches the Wall, the King in the North decides to meet the person who can be their last chance of survival... But he is not the first Wolf to see the Mother of Dragons, nor is he the last.I suck at writing but give it a try, please :)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! There is some stuff i'd like to share with you before reading.  
> 1.) My mother tongue is not English and this is my first fanfic ever. So please be kind even if what you read below is just a piece of shit, which is... Well, highly probable, to say the least :D  
> 2.) I will try to be more or less accurate, but I know little about such things as the map or the history of Westeros, or the different family-trees. This might change in the future, though :) (What I _do_ know is that Lyanna is not the granddaughter of Jeor, but I kinda wanted her to be. Yay.)  
>  3.) OOC warning. Everywhere. It's so hard to do justice to these awesome personalities.
> 
> It's far from good, but I still hope you will enjoy it :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I just reread the whole story now, and it's pretty bad at the beginning (style and everything), but it gets a bit better, eventually. I think. I don't promise anything, though. I tried :)

The she-wolf

 

 

She heard interesting stories. About a queen. And her three dragons.

  
When she was little, she used to like the stories of the Targaryens. Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, Daeron the Young Dragon, Daena the Defiant, Aerion the Bright Prince… Aerys the Mad King.

  
If the rumours were true, this queen who possessed more titles than any of her ancestors was quite a strange woman. It was said that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, she seduced all the masters in Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen, then let her dragons eat them, she could turn you into ashes by a single glance, she couldn’t be harmed by fire, she had silver scales on her skin, she roasted and ate the freed slaves in secret. Though she knew better than to believe the gossips. They were… Unlikely. Well, most of them.

  
The Dragon Queen was Aerys II’s daughter, the man who had caused so much pain to the North and the Seven Kingdoms. He burned alive her grandfather and uncle. Not like she mourned them, but still.

  
She wondered if the woman was as mad as her father.

  
At the very least, she was worth checking.

  
Arya didn’t know if any of her family members were alive. But a mad Targaryen in Westeros clearly didn’t help the survivors. So she decided. If the queen proved herself to be a threat, she wouldn’t ever reach the land across the Narrow Sea. A little practice before killing Cersei.

  
If not… Then she may live. Good for her.

 

 

The queen

 

 

Finally, they departed.

  
Finally, there was peace in Meereen.

  
Finally, she could relax.

  
After having dinner together, she sent Missandei away. She knew that her handmaiden was just as tired as her, and wanted nothing more than a long sleep. Or maybe a language lesson with Grey Worm, she thought with a smirk. Those two certainly got closer and closer as the time passed.  _I wonder how far they’ve gone. Most likely… Well, most likely not as far as they could have._  As former slaves, they were not really used to expressing their feelings. The thought filled her with bitterness.

  
She walked to the window and opened it. The night was beautiful and quiet. Her children were far away, searching for… Searching for prey. Her growing hunger indicated it, despite the recently served dinner. She knew that this journey won’t be easy for them. Although they wouldn’t starve, on the sea it was harder for them to fill their stomachs.

  
She went back to her bedside and sat down with her back towards the window. She enjoyed as the night’s chill crawled under her nightgown, softly touching her skin.  _I should get some rest. It was a long day._

  
She lied down with a weary sigh on her lips.

  
“I see. So even the Dragon Queen can be tired.”

  
She froze. Her eyes snapped open. Someone has just crouched next to her, putting a hand upon her mouth. She couldn’t shout…

  
“Don’t. Don’t call them. Don’t move.”

  
A girl, six-, maybe seventeen years old. Big, grey eyes.

  
_Idiot! The window! But… How? This is my private… She shouldn’t… Couldn’t have…What now?_

  
“Don’t need to be worried. I don’t want to harm you. At least not yet.”

  
Those grey eyes might have noticed her fear. The girl skeptically frowned.

  
“Listen to me, if I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already. I am pretty good, so I could’ve cut your throat before you even noticed that I was there. Or I could’ve waited until you fell asleep. I just want to speak with you a bit. Now I will remove my hand, but you won’t start to shout right away, understood?”

  
Daenerys nodded.

  
The girl stood up and stepped aside so she could finally sit up, her affright suddenly replaced by ire and annoyance.  _I have to call my guards._  But she didn’t.

  
“May I ask who are you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I assume you know my name but I have no idea about yours. Nor about the reason for which I can experience the... honour of your company.”

  
“Wow, you really didn’t shout.” The girl took a chair and sat down. “I half-expected that I will have to knock out some of your guards before I get a chance to chat with you.” The girl regarded her strangely, with almost amusement.

  
“So you say you won’t hurt me” she snapped, “but instead of coming during the day you rather sneak into my chambers at night to have a… chat.” She felt her anger rising.

  
“It’s more comfortable this way. And I said I won’t hurt you  _yet._  It depends.”

  
“Depends on what?”

  
“Your answers.”

  
“My answers?”

  
“I want to know if you are a threat.”

  
_A threat to what? And what if I am? You will kill me? My guards. I need my guards._  The girl just enlightened her that she might murder her in her own bed, yet she realized that she was not afraid anymore.

  
“I don’t have a clue what you might possibly want to ask me about, but you know, I can lie whenever I want. I am… – _How did she say?_  – Pretty good myself.”

  
“Yes, you can lie. But I assure you, I will spot whenever you try it. Doesn’t matter how good you are at it.”

  
_Who in the Seven Hells is this girl?_

  
“How can you be so sure?”  _My guards._

  
The girl smiled. “I am.”

  
_That was not an answer._

  
“Moreover,” her ‘guest’ continued, “You have no reason to lie. You don’t know which a correct answer is and which is not.”

  
Daenerys had the strange feeling that the girl won’t do anything to her. She wondered why. Even her anger from before seemed to vanish.

  
She chuckled quietly. “You are right, I suppose.”

  
_What am I doing? I can’t believe it. This girl just appears, tells me that there is a possibility that she will kill me, and I am laughing, as though she is joking. But she is not, absolutely not. I need my guards._

  
“Are you from the Seven Kingdoms?” She didn’t call for them.

  
“Why are you interested?”

  
Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh. “Hm… A good question. If we do not count that you are an uninvited, total stranger on my ship, who simply walks – no, jumps in –” she glanced at the window “and starts a… well, a bit strange conversation; that you are a girl who, although coming from Essos, uses the Common Tongue; and that you have a blade with you despite being a young female… No, if we do not count these, indeed, I don’t have a reason for being interested.”

  
“Okay, okay, got it.” the girl smiled slightly “I am from the Seven Kingdoms.”

  
“And which one of the Seven?”

  
“Won't you guess?”

  
The queen tilted her head. “How could I?” she motioned towards the window where not long ago the dock could be seen. “I have never set foot on Westeros’ shores, you know, not since I was born.  I can learn about it as much as I wish to, but I will never really know it unless I live there. That’s why I'm going. I want to learn. I want to help. I want a home.”  _Why am I telling her these?_

  
“Didn’t you help in Meereen?”

  
“I did. But I do not belong there.”

  
The girl nodded but said nothing.

  
“Won't you tell me your name?”

  
“No. I don’t want you to know it.”

  
_What a mystery._  “You are annoying.” she said, quirking a brow.

  
“And you brave, aren’t you? I cannot sense any fear in you.”

  
_I'm not afraid. I don’t understand why._

  
The whole situation was just so ridiculous.

  
Daenerys realized that she rather… Liked the girl. Found her interesting. Honest and dishonest at the very same time.

  
“Do you… Really plan to kill me?”She had to ask it. She felt the answer, though.

 

“I don’t plan to kill you. I will kill you if I need you to be killed. I thought we discussed this already.”

 

“Sure we did.” she scoffed.  _This is ridiculous. My life is in danger. I should have warned them somehow already. I am the Mother of Dragons. The Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I must figure out something. Now._  But those first words echoed in her mind.  _‘I am pretty good.’_  She was good. She could sneak on the boat; she could sneak into her chamber without anyone noticing. And that short sword of hers on her hip, she could use it, without a doubt. No way of signalling to the guards. She would espy it right away. She would have plenty of time to attack.

  
But again, as strange as it was, she didn’t even feel intimidated.

  
“I don’t think you would harm me.” _Stupid. You shouldn’t have said that aloud._

  
“To be honest, I don’t think that either.” An odd expression appeared on the girl’s face. Uncertainty? “You don’t eat roasted slave children.”

  
“What?”  _What?!_

  
“Joking. That is a gossip I heard about you in Braavos. Don’t misunderstand me, I never believed it. But still, I expected… much worse.”

  
Daenerys looked away and remained silent for a moment. She realized. A strange person, but westerosi nevertheless. This girl knew the tales – no, facts – as much as herself, if not better. “I see.”  _So that is why you came._

  
“Do you?”

  
“My father.”

  
She knew. She knew who her father was. Mad King Aerys. Who had burnt people alive just because they furrowed their brows at him, or because he was not in a good mood, or… She felt a knot forming in her stomach.

  
“You came to check if I am as mad as he was.”

  
The girl didn’t answer.

  
“I take it as a ‘yes’. And? Am I?”

  
“You don’t seem like…”

  
“I don’t seem like? But you are not sure.”

  
She knew that this won’t do any good, but she started losing her temper. Aerys Targaryen was evil and disgusting. Always being compared to him wasn’t something she could bear.

  
“You think I am proud of it? Being his daughter? Well, thank you? I do everything I can, I give everything I have to help people, and yet, people look at me like I was a bloody monster and everything I wanted was to destroy them.

  
You know what? Get your answer. Decide already and do something. If you don’t want to kill me then get out of here. Now. I may even give you some time before calling for my men to find you.

  
If you want to hurt me, make your move now and I will make mine as well but don’t think that you will harm me without consequences. And don’t think you can kill me easily. No, I won't die. And you won't escape, it doesn’t matter if you are  _pretty good_. You shall have a painful death, I can assure you.” She hissed. “I am a queen. If you think I will play along with you in your fucking game, then you are mistaken.”

  
Usually, she didn’t swear, but at the moment she simply didn’t care. All the tension of the last few days, no, few years seemed to burst out. Her wrath was not for the person in front of her, but for the whole situation, for the prejudice-blinded humanity, for her father.

  
But the girl couldn’t possibly know that. Daenerys knew she made a mistake. She’s just proved herself to be her father’s daughter. She had no intention to…

  
As ridiculous and impossible as this all thing was, she didn’t want it to end like this. She felt like... She couldn’t have put it into words if asked, but somehow it just felt so good to speak to her. She wanted to find out why. But now she showed her the dragon. She proved herself to be a threat.

 

The girl looked at her in surprise for a moment. Then stood up and unsheathed her sword.

 

 

The squire

 

 

Eric Mormont knocked on her cousin’s door. Well, not exactly cousin, at least not a close one – they shared a grand-grand-grandfather or something like that.

  
Some people thought that he should be the one who inherited the leadership over the Island, but he was fully aware of the fact that Lyanna, Jeor’s granddaughter, would make a much better ruler. Young with her eleven years, but fiery, brave and clever.

  
They were not the main branch of the family, and he was glad for it. Fewer responsibilities. They were not stuck to the Bear Island.

His father’s last wish before he died of disease was that Eric would see the world. So he spent his early childhood travelling around Westeros with one of his father’s best friends, Brydan. Once they even got to Dorne. As strange as the country was, it became one of his favourite places.

  
He loved the journeys. But soon, it all came to an end. The word of Jorah’s betrayal finally reached them.

  
Ryd was outraged; Eric could remember the way those big hands clenched into fists, how his expression hardened, how the gentleness in his eyes transformed into something entirely else.  _‘We are going home now.’_  he said  _‘They need us.’_

  
Bear Island has always been a relatively poor place with its wooden keep and less than 300 inhabitants. And after such events, it needed every available hand and sword to maintain the right order.

  
So, several months afterwards, at age nine, Eric arrived home. But the supposed ‘hand and sword’ were missing. Just after they’d left Deepwood Motte, a group of four wildlings had attacked them. And Ryd, although he managed to kill them, hadn’t lived it through.

  
Since then, he spent his days with training. He didn’t want to see again as someone he cared for died in front of his eyes.

  
He earned the respect of the locals by his fighting skills; maybe that’s why they wanted to choose him as the Lord of Bear Island after the Young Wolf’s fall. But he knew that swinging a sword is not enough to be a good ruler, so he rather supported Lyanna’s claim, whose abilities at leading people absolutely exceeded his.

  
Besides, to be honest, Lyanna was like a sister to him. He loved and respected her, believed in her.

  
“Come in.” he heard.  _Oh, the little Bear Lady._  The boy opened the door.

  
“Hi, Lyanna. Do you recognize me?”

  
“Oh, shut up. Your face hasn’t changed just because you became the King’s squire. I don’t even know why the King needs a squire in the first place.” she smirked. Eric was the only person who knew this side of Lady Mormont.

  
“Well, he doesn’t either.” At that, they burst out laughing. “I think it was Lord Manderly who insisted, saying that ‘A King should overshadow everyone!’. Though I’m not sure why having a squire means overshadowing anyone.”

  
“Actually King Jon is so humble it’s a miracle he agreed to it. But nevertheless, I am glad he chose you, cousin.”

  
“That’s not my merit, ya know. He chose me ‘cause of your recommendation.”

  
“Oh, yes, I know. It was amusing to see that face the fat pig made after Jon Snow decided not to take one of his sons, but you.”

  
“Hey, don’t tell me you did it for your own amusement.”

  
“Hm... You are right. That wasn’t the only reason. I also wanted to get rid of you for a while” she said with a musing expression on her face.

  
“Lyanna!” he laughed.

  
“Okay, okay. To be serious, I did it because I trust in you. I want someone who always represents me near him. And as much as I respect him, I still don’t know him. Sure he is brave and honest, a true northman. But what kind of a person?”

  
_How can a girl at her age be such an... Adult? She is cleverer than most of the lords here._

  
“You never stop surprising me, cousin.” he smiled.

  
“Right? So, what have you learnt about him during these two weeks?”

  
Jon Snow was declared King in the North one and a half months ago. Since then, he accomplished many things, including the developments regarding the military forces of the North and the defences of Winterfell. But that was just the surface. Since Eric became his squire a fortnight ago, he realised that the King was much better at his job,  _he was much better of a person_  than he let on.

  
_First_ , he spent most of his free time with training the children. Although he was the one who ordered them to start fighting at such an early age, he cared for them, he feared for their lives. He was no fool; he knew how dangerous the war was for a ten years old boy or a girl.

  
Jon Snow was a formidable fighter (some people considered him as the best swordsman since Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning) and a good teacher. Eric experienced it himself; His Grace sparred with him too sometimes, actually pretty much, despite the many things he had to do as the leader of half the country.

  
Their sessions were hard but fruitful. Merely after a few times, he could feel the difference. A week with the King was worth a month or more training alone.

  
_Second_ , he always pursued to avoid the conflicts between his men. He didn’t just let them be, he tried to truly solve their problems. He listened to everyone’s concerns and judged them fairly.

  
_Third_ , he would do anything and everything for the good of his people. Eric realised this the same time when he found out that the King was no oathbreaker. Far from it, actually.

  
It was a topic that the Lords tried to avoid since no one really knew the truth. They didn’t like to think about it. Of course they didn’t, considering that their honourable King would break his vows...

  
But that was not the case. Eric saw them, the scars.

 

It had happened four days ago, after they had finished their fighting lesson. The King had been unusually tired, so instead of checking on the children as they trained, he’d retired to his chambers, dismissing his squire. Not knowing what else to do, Eric had decided to walk a bit.

  
However, before long, he had heard someone saying his name.

  
“Eric.” called out the Lady of Winterfell. He had turned immediately.

  
“Yes, m’Lady?”

  
“Where is my brother?”

  
“With respect, m’Lady, His Grace retired not long ago. It was a long day.” he added.

  
“I see.” sighed Lady Stark. And then, slowly, as if contemplating something, she started: “And... What do you think he does now?”

  
“Um...I’m not sure?”

  
“Well, brooding, most likely” she smiled “He’s very fond of you, did you notice that?”

  
Eric couldn’t really comprehend. What does the King’s mood – brooding – do with him? His face must have shown his confusion because Lady Sansa had let out a bittersweet laughter.

“Don't worry, you did nothing wrong. I was just wondering if you could cheer him up since Ser Davos is currently not available to do so.” then she’d given him a wineskin he hadn’t even noticed she had with her. “Go, Lord Mormont. Please. Jon needs friends. Loyal ones.”

  
So, with wine in hand, he had gone to meet again with his King.

  
The door had been slightly opened; maybe that’s why – rather foolishly – he hadn’t even knocked on it, just stepped in. “Your Gr...” he couldn’t continue. The words simply stuck in his mouth.

  
The King stood before the mirror with bare upper-body; but as he heard someone coming in, he turned. And he’d seemed as startled as Eric himself. Certainly, he didn’t want anyone to see them. On his chest... There were six deep, red scars, and one of them, a moon-shaped ugly line, directly above the heart.

  
Jon Snow should have been dead.

  
They remained silent for a few moments. Then...

  
“Eric.”

  
“Y...Your Grace, I just... Your Lady Sister...” he couldn’t speak clearly.

  
The King had sighed. “Next time knock.”

  
“Aye, Your Grace.” he’d answered, feeling ashamed.

  
Soon, Eric had learnt a lot. What His Grace did as the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, the mutiny, the Red Priestess, the revival... The King told him, there was no point in denying, as the boy saw the evidence. The man clearly suffered during the speech, though. It was not his body alone that had sustained terrible wounds.

 

The squire had doubts before about the things the King said. But there he stood: a man, still (or again?) alive, who experienced death. Suddenly everything became more real. Wights, White Walkers, empty, blue eyes.

  
Eric Mormont had always thought Jon Snow a good man. But after that day, he respected him more than anyone.

  
The King asked him not to tell anyone. And he hadn’t. But Lyanna had to know. So now, as she asked him about his observations concerning the King, he told her everything he’d learnt and realised.

  
Lady Mormont’s eyes widened. And then, she let out a small, sad smile.

  
“So, my instincts were good. Bastard or not, he has Stark blood in his veins. He makes a good king. Though I don’t think you are okay with everything, are you?”

  
“You mean the wildlings?”

  
“Don't you hate them? They killed your friend... Brydan, wasn’t it?”

  
“Well, yes... Or I used to? I can’t bring myself to like ‘em, not yet, but maybe I can accept them. Ryd was a good man, my only friend for a while. And wildlings murdered him. Then again, they could’ve been westerosi raiders; it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

  
“You are a good man too, Eric.”

  
“Wouldn’t say that.”

  
“Oh, shut up.”

 

They talked a bit more, then Eric turned to leave. As he reached for the door, he heard as his cousin spoke.

  
“He is our king.”

  
“Aye.”

  
No other words needed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, here is the second chapter :) Please forgive me if there are a lot of mistakes.

The she-wolf

 

“I don’t think you would harm me.”

She wanted to laugh. What an interesting person.

At first, when she laid her hand upon the woman’s mouth, she could see the fear in her violet eyes. Of course no one can be the calmest with an assassin-like someone next to her. But as soon as she moved aside, she saw that fear vanishing.

She could tell the queen was brave. She could tell she suffered a lot. And she could tell, despite all those sufferings, there were no signs of madness in her. The misery didn’t ruin her soul. Nor did the famous ‘Targaryen blood’.

She was also kind. She clearly cared about her soldiers. No, not just them, every single slave she freed, everyone who followed her.

“To be honest, I don’t think that either.”

Arya thought about the gossips she heard. People really can be unreasonable little shits. Eating roasted slaves. This woman in front of her. What the fuck. No.

The she-wolf realized that she rather admired the queen, her will to help.

“You don’t eat roasted slave children.” It was funny, Daenerys’ face as she heard this. But then she made a mistake. That particular half of a sentence slipped out, and it was enough for the Targaryen to figure out everything.

“My father.”

Her amusing disbelief and confusion turned into sadness, and then disappointment, and then – anger. The anger of somebody who was hurt.

Because the hurt was clear in the lilac gaze.

“I am a queen. If you think I will play along with you in your fucking game, then you are mistaken.”

It was surprising as the Dragon Queen lost her temper. And strangely saddening. She seemed ashamed of her father. She despised him for who he was. And being compared to such a person surely couldn’t feel good.

The wolf girl felt like a fool, and that was not a thing that happened often to her. It wasn’t a bad decision, coming here, but having prejudices, that was a mistake.

Arya could understand how it felt when others just didn’t get who you were, when it was only your name that mattered, not the person covered by it. She was the same.  _Arya_   _Stark._ She loved her family more than anything in the world, but being the daughter of her father and mother, she was actually forced to be a lady she’d never been meant to be.

Or… They tried to force it. She fought against it. And so does this tiny queen, trying to destroy the image her father had left behind.  _I say tiny, but actually I am shorter._ She felt the edges of her mouth slightly twitching upwards.

_I’ve just done one of the things I despise most on the world. Judging someone by the father’s sins. Like those motherfuckers always do with bastards. Shit._

There was only one person who had seen who she truly was and didn’t want to change it. Jon. Oh, how she missed her brother. Arya doubted the queen has ever had someone like him.

_So, she said I should make my move. And she will do hers. She is bluffing, though. She would be dead before she could open her mouth to shout, and she knows it, I see it in her eyes. She is not stupid._

Arya stood up and pulled Needle out from her sheath.

Daenerys’ eyes flicked towards the door with determination, but she didn’t have a chance to do anything.

The words of Syrio Forel echoed in the girl’s mind.  _Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake._

Again, her right hand was against the queen’s mouth. But Needle didn’t approach the soft skin of her throat.

“Don’t do it for fuck’s sake, I told you I don’t want to fight with your guards.” she whispered. And then using her most (ironic) ladylike manner she continued. “I wish to introduce someone to you,  _Your Grace._ ”

 

The queen

 

“I wish to introduce someone to you,  _Your Grace._ ” said the girl, turning the sword in her left hand, so now the hilt was before Daenerys. “Come, say hello to my companion.”

She took the weapon in her hand, not sure what to do after that. The girl leaned back, placing her hands on her lap.

“What do you think?”

“Why did you give it to me?”

The girl chuckled. “I didn’t ask what you were thinking; I want to know what you think of my sword.”

“Um… Beautiful?” she was confused.  _If this whole thing gets even a bit crazier, I think I will just... Or..._   _Seven Hells._ “I thought you wanted to kill me now.”

“Considering that you are still alive, I clearly didn’t.” she said with amusement in her voice. After a short silence, the girl started to speak.

“Her name is Needle. I got her from my brother when… our paths got separated.” she sighed. “At that time, no one understood me. They all wanted to bind me to rules made by others. They didn’t want to see the person I was. They didn’t give a shit about what I wanted. All but one. I know you shouldn’t have such thing as a favourite sibling, but he was mine. He always cared about my feelings. He was the reason I didn’t feel myself so alone.”

For a moment, Daenerys couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “He was?”

“I don’t know if he is alive or not. What I know is that he had Needle made for his sister. She is very important to me.” Daenerys lifted the thin sword with wonder. “She saved my life countless times. Not only my life but also my identity.” This last sentence didn’t really make sense to her, but she let it go. “And she’s a gift, a relic from my brother.”

Their eyes met, and she gave back the girl her sword,  _her Needle._ She felt awe. And a bit of envy.  _Had Viserys been like this... No, I don’t want to think about him._

“Now, Daenerys Targaryen, you are going back to Westeros. To conquer. I don’t know if any of my family members... siblings are alive”  _why did she change the word?_ “but if yes, I will protect them.” The queen slowly nodded.

“What I want to say... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have compared you to your father. It was a mistake.”

_Wait... Why is she apologising all of sudden? It was my mistake, not hers. I thought she wanted to kill me because of it._

“But,” the girl said with a sudden force in her voice “I would’ve come even if you were not the Mad King’s daughter.” Daenerys’ eyes widened. “You know, I have a list with the names of the people I want to kill. Guess who is on the top.”

 _What? Why? What is she speaking about?_ “I don’t know.”

“Does the name ‘Cersei Lannister’ say anything to you?”

“You want to kill Cersei Lannister?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes, I do. Because she’d hurt my family. I came here to see who you are. Of course it crossed my mind if you are – sorry – as mad as Aerys the Second, but it was not my main reason. As I said before: you are a queen. And I won’t allow some stupid, cruel monarchs to hurt my siblings. Not anymore.” the girl said, looking at her eyes. “If they are still alive.” she added bitterly.

A few quiet moments passed. Then Daenerys broke the silence.

“Why did you tell me these?” she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Well, you are not mad.”

“That is not an answer. You won't tell these to ‘everyone who is not mad’. Besides, I can't even imagine how you decided that I wasn’t mad. All I did was to show you my...  _bad_   _side_.”

“Oh, that's not true. We had a pleasant conversation before. ” the girl said with a mischievous look on her face.  _The Hells we had. That was anything but a pleasant conversation._ “As for your question, I don’t have an answer. I simply felt like it.” she smiled, as if she was confused herself. “I think I like you. Or something like that. That’s why I told you.”

“That means you won’t kill me?”

“Depends.”

“Hey.”

They laughed.  _What the... I’m laughing again. Well, at least I know she won’t kill me._

“So, who are you again?” asked the queen with a hint of impatience in her voice.

“Call me Nymeria.”

“That is not your real name, is it?”

“It is not.”

Daenerys sighed. “...So, Nymeria.”

“Aye.”

_Aye? Who says...whatever._

“By the way, why is Needle a female?” she smiled curiously. Stupid question, but she felt like asking it.

The girl smirked. “Do your dragons have a gender?”

“... Actually, they don’t.”

“If I’m not mistaken, they are your children. Now, if you should choose, how would you call them, your daughters or your sons?”

“Um... My sons, I suppose.”

“Why?”

“Well... I’m not sure?”

“Exactly. That's why.”

They started to giggle again.

 

“I think I will go now, Daenerys.”

“You don’t trouble yourself with formalities, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” said Nymeria before standing up. “Good night” the girl winkled, then she climbed out the window.

 

The whole incident was so unnatural, unreal, unrealistic. If it wasn’t for the chair near her bed, she would’ve thought it all a dream.

_Hm... Nymeria. Why do I feel like this was not the last time we met? And why do I feel like you are already my friend? Why am I not afraid?_

_It is easy to laugh with you, nameless girl._

 

The king

 

_The night was awfully quiet. Jon sat behind his desk, awake; he couldn’t get rid of the uneasy feeling that obsessed him. Something was not right. He stood up, slowly, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. He felt his heart hammering in his ribcage. He opened the door and stepped out of his chambers. A wolf howled in the distance._

_He walked down the stairs to the courtyard. ’Where are the guards?’ he thought. ‘ Why are they missing?’_

_“Is anyone here?” he called out with a trembling voice. No response._

_It was then when he realised that this wasn’t Winterfell. He was in Castle Black._

_And suddenly, they appeared._

_Commander Mormont. Qhorin Halfhand. Pyp. Grenn._

_They all stood there, staring at Jon with empty, blue eyes. The Commander opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. But no word came. Instead, they started to melt down into a crimson red pool. He started to run towards them, but it was too late._

_“You can't save them. You failed them. You failed everyone, Jon.” said someone behind him with a sad tone. Jon knew the voice._

_“Uncle Benjen!” he turned, only to see that there was no one behind him. Just a cross, with that word, too familiar to him. ’No...’ he thought desperately. ‘No...’ He spun around._

_“For the watch.” He felt the first blade entering his body. The pain was almost unbearable, it burned his skin, his flesh. Then came the second blow. And the third. After that, he didn’t feel anything. Not even the rest of the stabs._

_The last thing he saw was Olly, as he stood before him. His knife glowed with a strange, blue light. The boy spoke, but Jon couldn’t hear it. Only Thorne’s voice echoed in his head._

_“Good night, Lord Snow.”_

_The blade cut_   _deep into his heart._

_It was cold._

_So, so terribly cold._

 

He woke with a cry. He was in his room at Winterfell, alone, behind his table.  _A dream... It was a dream..._  He felt a drop of sweat dripping off his brow. The dead never stopped haunting him.  _Fuck._

“My King? Are you all right?” asked the guard outside his door.

“Yes, thank you. Don’t worry.” he answered, startled. Jon really hadn’t been used to the guards yet. It had been almost two months since he had been crowned, although ‘crowned’ wasn’t the best word for what happened.

 

That hour was still fresh in his memory, as though it happened the day before. He sat at the middle of the high table in the main hall. For a while, everything went right. He wanted to announce that Sansa will be the Lady of Winterfell, then start planning the war against the dead. Instead, everything turned upside-down when Lady Lyanna spoke up. 

 _“He is my King!”_ she exclaimed.

Jon didn’t  _blame_ her or anything, but... It was just not right.

 _“King in the North!”_ the lords shouted.

It was not right, he,  _a bastard,_  being a king.  _He_ , being a king, when  _Sansa,_ the capable leader, the trueborn child sat beside him. It was ridiculous. He trembled, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to roar at them and stop this nonsense. But then, his eyes met Sansa’s. She gave him an almost unnoticeable shake of her head. And she smiled.

So he accepted the title. But it was very hard for him to get accustomed to it. He wasn’t raised to be a lord, let alone a king.  _It’s ridiculous. It’s so fucking ridiculous._

His muscles were sore and stiff because of the weird position he was sleeping in. He stood up with a low groan and then yawned.  _I think I overworked myself again. This is really not for me._

He was awfully tired, yet when he lay down on his bed, sleep just didn’t come.  _C’mon... I need the rest._  But deep inside he knew that he won’t be able to fall asleep. Unless he was so tired that he couldn’t keep his eyes open and drift off without noticing it, he could never sleep. For him, the night was... Frightening. Every time he closed his eyes, in his every dream, he saw the people he failed. Either them or the Army of the Dead and the Night King.

Jon sighed.  _There is no use in lying here._  So he got up and walked to his door and opened it.

“Your Grace?”

“I am going for a walk. Go, get some rest.”

“Are you sure, Your Grace?”

“Aye.”

It seemed like the man wanted to say something more, maybe to insist not to leave the king’s side, but a glance from Jon was enough to convince him. His Grace wished for solitude.

He went to the Godswood. When he reached the weirwood tree, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one coming here.

“Hey, boy. What are you doing here?”

Ghost turned his head towards him, his clever eyes like two glowing ruby in the night.

“I just wondered where you wandered. Haven't seen you today.” said Jon with a slight smile on his lips. Then he sat down next t the small lake. Ghost padded to him, then lay down, putting his head in Jon’s lap. The king laughed.

“You got big, didn’t you? Your head is twice as big now as your body had been when I’d found you.” he said, and then he petted the wolf. “Ghost... Tell me, what should I do?”

His suppressed feelings that he tried to hide from everyone started to flood his soul. Helplessness, cluelessness, uselessness. Winter was here, the dead were coming. Nothing could stop the Long Night’s arrival. He covered his face with his hands.

“We have no chance... We have no  _fucking chance_ , Ghost.”

 

The queen

 

 _‘Why do I feel like this was not the last time we met?’_ That was what she thought the night before, just after the mysterious visitor disappeared. However, the next day she had to realise that she’d been a bit foolish, not expecting the ‘next time’ to be so soon.  _It is more than two months till we reach Westeros. And we are travelling on the very same ship. I wonder when I did become such an idiot. Of course we met again._

After a dinner spent with her small council, she excused herself early and headed back to her chambers. Daenerys didn’t tell anyone about the previous night. She didn’t want anyone to be worried, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to go and search for Nymeria.

...Probably that was a mistake?

She walked in. After closing the cabin’s door, Daenerys sighed and took a silver cup to pour herself wine.

“Are you sure a single cup will be enough?” said someone behind her.

Daenerys froze.  _Don't tell me..._

 “What are you doing here?”

“Hm, I was lonely.” Nymeria smirked.

“That doesn’t mean that you can come here whenever you want...” she started, despite knowing that it was absolutely pointless.

“Hey, don’t be so mean. I appreciate you didn’t tell anyone that I was here, it helps me a lot, but c’mon, you can't expect me to disappear and leave you alone during the whole journey. You are my only company here, Dragon Queen.”

 _She really doesn’t care about being polite or respecting someone’s personal space. Gods._ “At least you could’ve said a word. It can be quite startling if you start to randomly show up in my room.” complained the queen with brows furrowed in defeat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! If so, please let me know :) It feels so good, reading your opinions.  
> The third chapter will be out next week, probably friday.  
> xx


	3. Bonus Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kind of bonus chapter about Arya and Daenerys on the ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again :) It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm really sorry for the delay, but I've been extremly busy. Henceforward I'll try to update weekly (though I can't promise anything), probably on Fridays.
> 
> This is a pretty short chapter and not even the continuation of the events on Dragonstone, but still I hope you will enjoy it. I know, I hate fillers too, but well... I just needed to write about them a bit more :)

The queen

 

An enormous wave crashed into the boat, almost sending her to the floor if not for the wet hand reaching out and gripping her arm just in time.

“You alright?” asked Nymeria nonchalantly.

 _Hello again._  “More or less, thank you. I just didn’t expect it coming.”

“Yeah, the weather is awful.” the girl grumbled.

“I can see that,” she smiled in response.

Daenerys wasn’t even surprised that the girl just appeared in her room, though it took a while to get used to her sudden visits through the window. It wasn’t hard to guess why she was here now. As she paid closer attention, it was not only the weather that seemed terrible.

“Uh… I was on the deck when it started raining. I hate these sudden storms.”

Her smile widened at the expression on the younger girl’s face. “You should take a bath. It will help.”

“I’ve just token one, as you can see.” sounded the irritated answer.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

“No, really. A proper bath.”

“I don’t want to.” _Like a kid._

“You are like a soaked cat.”

“I’m always what I need to be. A cat, a deer, a snake, a shadow, someone else...”  _Well. That’s not the point here, you know._ Daenerys almost snorted. She didn't seem convincing at all, dripping wet in the middle of the room, trying – and thoroughly failing – to sound all serious and tough.

“And you certainly will be a sick cat if you don’t take care of yourself.”

“Shut up. I still can't see how the bath comes here. I don’t need one.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You are annoying.”

“As are you. Now stop arguing and come here.”

 

 

“I still can't believe you did this to me.”

“You act like I tried to burn you alive or something.”

“Actually you did. This water is damn hot.”

“You shouldn’t complain, I sacrificed my own bath for you, little girl.”

“How generous of you. Don’t do it again.”

Daenerys would’ve never admitted how much she enjoyed their constant bickering. Had she had a little sister, they would be like this. At least that’s how she imagined it, how she wanted to imagine it.  _Viserys ruined me and he would’ve ruined her as well. She would’ve suffered._

Nymeria sat in the bathtub with a huffish expression on her face.  _Really, like an upset kitten_. She tried to hide her smirk but thoroughly failed. During the almost one month of sailing, she noticed that behind the cold mask of an assassin there was a free-spirited young girl, despite Nym’s best efforts to conceal it.

It was like… It was like she had been two people at the same time.  _‘I’m always what I need to be. A cat, a snake, a deer, a shadow, someone else…’_  she said.  _But which is the real you, Nymeria?_

 

“I didn’t think you would have normal clothes like this.” the girl said, touching the bottom of the loose tunic Daenerys gave her.

“Should I be offended?” she raised her eyebrows. “Besides, I doubt many would consider  _your_ clothes _normal.”_

“True. Though it doesn’t change the fact that this is better than that queenly shit you always wear.”

Daenerys looked down on her favourite nightgown. “Well, I love to wear this ‘queenly shit’, so I don’t quite agree with you.”

“You can’t fight in stuff like that. It leaves you vulnerable.”  _Ah, of course. Always the combat._

“Then it’s okay for me, I guess. I do not fight. Not on the ground, at least.”

Nymeria regarded her strangely. “Why?”

“I have never had the time for that. Neither did I feel like I needed it, I suppose.” she gave a small smile. “Swinging a sword is not the only way a person can be strong.”

“Yeah, you’re right there. Though you should consider it. Learning how to fight.” Nymeria jumped off the table which she was sitting on and walked to the window.

“I have guards to protect me. Loyal men.”

“Yet your guards won't always be there. They were not when I climbed through this,” she knocked on the glass a few times, “I could’ve murder you within the blink of an eye.”

_Fair point._

“Speaking about that… How did  _you_  become a fighter? You said you were training in Bravos to become an assassin. But before that? It must have started earlier.”

Nym smirked. “And why would you think that?” she asked in a challenging tone.

Daenerys pointed to the table. “Your sword. Your brother gave it to you, didn’t he? And you haven’t seen him for years.” she said with a soft expression on her face. “So it must've been a long time ago that you started practicing. When you got Needle. Or even before that.”

The surprise was clear in the dark grey eyes. “You even remember her name.”

“I do.” the queen smiled. “Interesting stories are hard to forget.”

Nymeria silently laughed, the warmness of it reaching her eyes. “Indeed. And yes, I started it early. Although, my mother didn’t like it, saying that a lady must not play with swords, so I had to do it in secret.”

“Your brother knew about it, I reckon.”

“Of course!” the girl said brightly “We were really close, he knew everything about me. Sometimes he would even help me with my practice.” Her thoughts wandered to Viserys again, wondering how it would feel to have a sibling that really cares about you. “Though not very often. He was afraid my mother would find out. He said he wouldn’t like if she started to hate him even more because of it.

“Hate him? Who could hate her own child?” She asked dismayed, thinking about Rhaego. She had never met him, yet her love and grief for her lost son were real, so real, so strong.

“Well… He was not… Hers.”

_Oh._

“He’s my father’s bastard son. That’s why my mother hated him that much. She treated him badly enough, he didn’t need to get punished because of my wish to learn how to fight instead of sewing and chatting about silly things all the day.”

“But sometimes he helped you anyway?”

“Aye, every once in a while he would go with me behind the stables and show a few stances and tricks. Those were rare occasions, though. Mostly on my namedays or when I was being really sad.”

“Such a thoughtful brother.”

“That he was. I hope I can meet him again.”

Although it had not been said out loud, Daenerys understood what she meant.  _‘I hope he is alive.’_

 

The she-wolf

 

It was so easy, telling this woman about her childhood, her siblings, her life. Though she’d never said names. Because had she tell her them, it would leave her, the depths of her heart plain and vulnerable, it would destroy the safety of being unknown. She didn’t want that. Not yet.

 _Father is dead. As is mother and Robb. Bran and Rickon were killed by Theon._  It had been surprising how these things reached her while she lived in Essos. Or not, actually. The terrible news was always spreading like a disease, except the people outside Westeros found them rather entertaining instead of horrible and disgusting.  _And now, after Theon, another traitor sits behind Winterfell’s High Table. The Boltons. Bloody turncloaks, they were there at the Red Wedding. I’ll kill them too._

“What are you doing?” she heard the soft voice she started to associate with the Silver Queen.

“Thinking about an old tale,” Arya answered not even bothering to look up, eyes fixated on the cup of sweet summer wine in her hands.

“What kind?”

“One that Old Nan would tell us pretty often. She said it happened long before Aegon’s Landing. We all liked it, except perhaps my sister.” She felt the ends of her mouth quirking up a bit.  _Sansa._  She would always hide under the blanket, saying that she didn’t want to hear the ending.

“It was about a cook at one of the castles along the Wall. Maybe the Nightfort, but I am not sure. So, one day, an Andal king visited the castle, and the cook served him a pie that was made of bacon and the flesh of the king’s son.” Daenerys visibly gasped, which just increased her amusement “The cook killed the prince in revenge for a wrong the king supposedly did to him. Of course, the king didn’t know about it, he even praised the taste as he ate and asked for a second piece.”

“Well, that is an… Unique story, I suppose.”

“Wait, it’s not over. So, yeah, the cook had the king eaten his own son, and the Gods were angered because of it – they cursed the cook and transformed him into a large, white rat who was doomed to be unable to eat anything but his own young. Yet it was not for the murder that the Gods cursed him, nor for serving the Andal king his son in a pie. He was cursed because he slew a guest beneath his roof, and that the Gods cannot forgive.”

Her words were followed by a moment of silence. The queen shifted her gaze to the window, watching as the clouds slowly turned into orange and red scars on the horizon. Then she spoke.

“I have a feeling that once we reach Westeros, something terrible will happen to someone.”

Finally, Arya lifted her eyes up of the cup in her lap to stare at the woman in front of her, so different yet so similar to her.  _She fully understands what I’ve just told her._  Now the violet eyes met the grey ones, and Arya knew that Daenerys won't judge her for what she intends to do.

And there was something else, too, in those eyes, besides the understanding. Not pity, but rather sadness and sympathy.

“To people who deserve it.”

 

It was a pity that she couldn’t see the dragons closely, they flew pretty far from the ships. But even from afar she could tell how magnificent they were, graciously moving on the sky, sometimes diving in the water to hunt like enormous seagulls pouncing for fish, then roasting their prey when in the air again.

She had never thought she would get to see dragons,  _actual dragons_  in her life. They were extinct for more than a hundred years, and yet they were here,  _she_ was here, admiring them.

Daenerys Targaryen, as impossible as it should’ve been, brought her family’s symbol back to life. And she did so many other impossible things, Arya couldn’t help but wonder how a helpless girl like the one the queen described her old self could change so much, accomplish so much in her life. Then again, the Dragon Queen was not the only one to change over the years.

Every passing day, she admired Daenerys more and more. How she freed the Unsullied, the other slaves, how she killed the masters, how she burnt the  _khals_ , how the Dothraki followed her…

As the queen told her about her adventures, she felt like an awestruck little child again.

And a part of her wished for it so desperately, to jump back in time and become Arya Underfoot again, a careless kid playing with wooden sticks, wanting to impress people, to annoy her sister, to laugh with her brothers, to play with Nymeria, the real Nymeria. And a part of her hated the feeling because she knew that nothing will be the same.

As far as she knew, she could be the last living member of her family.

 

“Uh, I know that one,” she said, pointing at the huge, leather covered book in Daenerys’ hands.

“Really?”

“Yeah, the maester had us learn from it all the time. It is so boring, I don’t know how you can keep reading it for hours.”

A slight smile appeared on the silver-haired woman’s face.“I enjoy it, actually. I haven’t really had a chance to learn of the Seven Kingdoms, so it feels good to gain real knowledge about my homeplace, you know.”

But just as she was about to answer, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Your Grace? May I come in?”

The voice was familiar, though she was not able to place it.

“A moment, Tyrion.”  _Ah. The dwarf._  They’d met only once in the past when Robert Baratheon visited Winterfell, and even then they only shared those unnecessary  _courtesies._  She couldn’t really understand why Daenerys trusted the man. He was a Lannister, after all.

Arya silently crouched and moved under the table.

“Come in.”

She heard the door opening and then closing. A pair of short legs appeared in her sight.

“Sorry for interrupting your studies, my queen. I just wanted to ask if you wished to discuss the matter of our alliances in Westeros. We are approaching Dragonstone, and we have to be prepared.”

The queen seemed to consider this. “I think I’d rather discuss it tomorrow. A small council meeting is in order, I suppose. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Are you alone? Where is the lovely Missandei?”

Even though she couldn’t see Daenerys’, she was certain that there was an amused smirk on the young woman’s face. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, in the last few days Grey Worm is taking very seriously his lessons.”

The dwarf laughed. “I’m sure about that. Well, I’d keep you company, but the sea brings the worst out of me – I don’t think I could stand on my legs much longer.”

“Are you sure that is due to your seasickness, my friend?”

“Certainly. Though I must say I found a pretty good cure that helps me a lot most of the times.”

“Oh, a good cure? Hm… Am I wrong to assume that this cure of yours includes a cup and a wineskin?”

“Well… The cup is not always necessary, but I think you got the main idea, Your Grace.” They both laughed, although now, paying closer attention, the dwarf’s voice genuinely sounded a bit sick and tired.

“Go and seek your bed, my Lord. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine. I also told this to Missandei, you don’t have to worry about me.”

The man hesitated for a moment, but eventually answered.“As you wish, my queen. Have a good night.”

“You as well, Tyrion.”

 

When Arya sat on a chair once again, it seemed like Daenerys couldn’t hold it in anymore and started laughing.

“So that's how you do it then, Lady Assassin. Hiding under the table.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m not an expert, but I doubt that's the best place for—”

“Fuck – you.”

 

“Why did you choose a Lannister as your Hand? His sister sits on your throne. His brother murdered your father.”

“And his father wanted to sentence him to death although he knew his son was innocent. Tyrion killed him instead. Do you think he had a place there after that? No. He had a place nowhere, really. So he came to me.”

“But still.”

“Oh, I don’t misunderstand me, I was furious when I saw him for the first time. Yet bias and first impressions... They do not make the best advisor, you know. You have to get to know someone first, you mustn’t judge a stranger.”

“Do you trust him? What if he betrays you? ”

“He won’t.”

“Why?”

“I would never betray him.”

“That is no guarantee.”

“Yes, it is. Because I will give him a home. Everyone wants a home. Tyrion has yearned for one since he was a child, just like me.”

“Hm... Curious thing, fate is. It brought him here, beside you.”

“I didn't take you for a person who believes in fate,” Daenerys said with a doubtful look.

“And how right you were,” she chuckled. “I’m not.”  _There’s no such thing._

“Well, me neither. It's not fate that makes the world move forward. People do.”

_You may be right, Dragon Queen. In many things._

_It’s a home everyone wishes for._

 

That night, for the first time in years, she dreamt of Winterfell and her family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Feedback and constructive criticism are always appreciated (as well as correcting my grammar mistakes, lol) :D
> 
> The seventh chapter will be up next week, probably on Friday.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than expected, but here's the next chapter :) Feedback is appreciated!

The queen

 

“May I braid your hair?”

“Fuck, no. Are you stupid?”

“Why? It would suit you.” then, with a teasing tone, she added “It would make you adorable.”

“Now, that is something I want to avoid. Forget it.” Nym grinned. “And please, don’t use such words when I can hear it. I beg you.”

She laughed out loud. “Besides, fighting is easier if your hair is not in the way, isn’t it?”

“It’s not in the way, I simply have to make sure it won’t fall in my eyes.”

“And that is how you make sure?”

“Don't mock my hair, this is how my father...” her voice trailed off, but she quickly composed herself  “This is how my father wore it.” she finished defiantly, with her chin raised.

“All right, all right.” she smiled yielding.

 

It had been sixty-four days since they started their journey. The seas were not kind: the strong winds and big waves made the travelling harder and longer than expected. There were still four or five days until they reach their destination.

They were heading to Dragonstone, the ancestral home of the Targaryen family. She wondered if the place was as amazing as she heard from Viserys all those years ago. Though she couldn’t believe anymore anything her late brother had said, his tales about the castle more or less matched Tyrion’s descriptions. Despite the fact that her Hand himself had never been there, he knew a lot about the island; for being westerosi, he had heard and read a lot about it, even more so because in his childhood – as he often mentioned – he loved very much the stories about the dragons, they were his favourites.

 

Daenerys was restless; she became more and more impatient as the days passed. But at least, despite everything, she enjoyed her time on the ship.

It was strange, being not alone with Missandei. No, she had never been alone before either; the other members of the small council were with her; but still. Now her handmaiden was not her only close friend. Because – the queen realised suddenly – Nym really became her friend.

At the beginning, the girl had been annoying, much like Tyrion in the first few days.  She had always been jesting and teasing, she appeared and disappeared the most random times imaginable (not showing herself to anyone but Daenerys), and she had never told anything relevant about herself. Well, not anything relevant about her identity.

But slowly, she started to like Nymeria. And probably Nym started to like her too. Not even now she knew who the girl was, but for an inexplicable reason, Daenerys trusted her. There was a bond forming between them. Maybe it was because their sufferings, because both of them were forced to grow up too soon.

As they spent their time together, she could catch glimpses of the hurt girl under the mask of the strange assassin.

 

They told each other about their pasts.

Although she hadn’t revealed her identity, Nym told her about the Seven Kingdoms, about the large family she had grown up in, how she played with her siblings in her childhood, how she loved her parents. She told her about her time in a place named Harrenhall and a faceless man, Jaqen H’ghar, about the House of Black and White in Braavos and her training to become a faceless man like the one she met. She spoke about a certain theatre as well, and about her realisation that there is no point in assassinating someone just because a person paid for it. And... She also told her about that  _list_. The reason she became a killer.  _Vengeance._

Of course, Nym could have been simply lying. It was possible, really, since the girl even revealed that she had had lessons specialised on the art of the lies. Oh, not lies,  _other truths,_ as the girl called them. But somehow Daenerys didn’t believe that.

In turn, she also told her about her life.

And so, they became closer and closer as each day passed.

 

She wondered how all of  _this_  was possible. She was a very guarded person, and still, this little girl (Daenerys didn't think she was older than ten and six) managed to get a place in her heart.

 

_I hope you are not lying, Nym. I'm not sure why I trust you, but I hope you are not betraying this trust. I hope you are the person you are showing me. I hope we can really be friends. And I hope that one day, when you are ready, you will tell me your name._

The she-wolf

 

The queen stood alone on the deck.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked, as she stepped beside her.

Daenerys kept looking ahead. “Thinking.”

They remained silent for a few moments, enjoying the quiet and the night’s cool breeze.

 

“We will arrive tomorrow. What will you do once we docked?”

“There’s only one thing I can think of.”

“There should be more. You could stay with us, Nym. I will take King’s Landing, I will defeat Cersei Lannister. I thought you wanted to kill her.”

“I do.”

“So why?”

“ _Your Grace.”_  Daenerys turned to her in surprise. She has never called her like that but once, on their first meeting, and that was out of mockery. But now, Arya really wanted her to understand how serious she was being. “I can't sit down and do nothing. I want them dead, not only Cersei, but all of them who had hurt my family. As much as I came to like you, I can't stay. Not while those motherfuckers are alive. And I also have to look for my family. I need to know if...” she didn’t continue.

Long minutes passed with neither of them saying anything.

Arya felt uneasy. On the long way, something died in her, something important. And she accepted it for some time now. Being alone caused her to change, she thought that she lost the person she had been before. Yet, standing here, next to her,  _Daenerys,_  she felt like she got back a part of her. Like the old Arya still existed within her. Sometimes she even caught herself fooling around like a kid.  _Sometimes? That would be an understatement._ She didn’t know how it was possible.

Something was wrong with the immediate trust they had for each other. And yet...  _And yet..._ It was right.

The dragon and the wolf. There was a lot in common between them, although no one realised it before.

She didn’t want to leave Daenerys. The white haired woman next to her became the closest thing Arya had to a sibling since she’d left King’s Landing. Not counting Gendry.  _Like the Hell I will count Gendry._

But next to the queen, she started to remember. She realised how she yearned for her family.  _Father. Mother. Robb._ She felt the unshed tears in her eyes. She didn’t think she would be capable of such a feeling anymore. She hadn’t cry for over three years.

 _Bran. Rickon. Sansa._ She touched Needle’s pommel.  _Jon..._

“Daenerys.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

They smiled sadly at each other.

“You know...”

“Hm?”

“I changed my mind, you may braid my hair. It would really make fighting easier, if I think about it.”

“And it would make you cute.”

“Do you want me to kill you, Dragon Queen?”

 

 

The queen

 

The meeting went well. They managed to form an alliance with Dorne and the Reach, both of whom pledged their loyalty to her. She knew that it wasn’t because they believed in her cause but because their hatred towards the Lannisters, she was not stupid, but she was glad nevertheless.

As everyone else had left, she sat down on the chair next to Olenna. The old woman smiled at her.

“So, you are our queen now.”

“It seems so.” answered Daenerys, meeting the elder’s gaze.

“Hm... Tell me, girl, did you think about why you want to take the throne?”

 _Why is she asking this?_ The old Tyrell had a sharp tongue that was for sure. Daenerys didn’t mind, though. It was rather refreshing. It reminded her of a certain girl from the boat, who disappeared right after their arrival.

“I did.”

“And?”

“I shall bring peace.”

“Peace?” Olenna laughed. “That is a good dream, Dragon Queen. But do you think that’s what we had under your father? Or his father? Or his? Peace never lasts, my dear.”

“My father, and his father, and his... They hadn’t even tried it. I  _will_  try. No, I  _will do_  it.” stated Daenerys “All those people you saw out there, they believe in me. I will never betray their trust. I’ll be the queen they and the Realm need.”

“You are an interesting young woman, Your Grace. I think my granddaughter, Margaery, would’ve liked you. But you are still naive. A child, I’d say.”

“And do you think it’s wise to say such things to a queen, Lady Olenna?”

“I have nothing to fear, so why not? My family has reached its end. The Tyrells are gone. The future of the house, my grandson and granddaughter are both dead.  _Ash_. The only thing that keeps me moving is to take vengeance. For that I need you, that’s why I am here. But you need me too, you won’t kill me. So I can tell you freely what is needed to be told. ” Strangely, the words didn’t anger her. She nodded.

“Never forget, Your Grace. The world is full of sheep.” Olenna slightly leaned forward. “You know, I wouldn’t have thought that the Targaryens will ever return. That fat pig Robert made sure of it, or tried, at least. He’d sent assassins after you, didn’t he? And yet, here you are, girl, and he is rotting under us. Why? Because you are no sheep. You are a dragon. Be a dragon.”

“That is what I was trying to do.”

“He’s a clever man, your Hand. Yet that cleverness won’t win you the war. It won’t bring you your  _peace._ I’ve lived a long life, heard a lot of things. It is said that dragons are strong, intelligent, and most importantly, they have the best senses in the world. Don't let that be wasted. Don't forget  _who_ the queen is. Don't forget  _who_ has to decide. Don't forget  _who_ has to  _act_.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Olenna stood up and left the hall.

Daenerys sat alone next to the Painted Table.  _I am a dragon. I will be a dragon._

The lady

 

It was early in the morning when Sansa woke up. Usually she waited for the sun to rise, but today somehow she couldn’t sleep any longer, so she lit a candle, dressed up and went out. It was still dark, the courtyard was empty save the guards on the wall and some diligent stable boys taking care of the horses.

 _I wonder if Jon is up already._  She sighed.  _Don't be silly._  Jon was  _certainly_  awake.  _I should find him._

She walked to his chambers, but there was no one, his bed empty and cold.  _So like Jon. If I have to guess, he had sent the guard away and gone off somewhere by himself. No, not ‘somewhere’. You know exactly where he is, Sansa._

And she was right. Jon sat by the small lake next to the weirwood with Ghost behind him.

“Brother.”

“Sansa? You are up early.”

“Not as early as  _someone,_ it seems.” she answered with a pointed look. “Jon, you need to rest. The lack of sleep won't help you at all.”

“I... I know.”

He looked exhausted. He lost weight, and despite the darkness, Sansa still noticed the dark circles under his eyes.  _He... can't sleep?_

It was so sad, seeing her brother like this. Something was not right. Ever since they took back Winterfell... No, since he was crowned king... He was not entirely himself. No one noticed it but her, of course, for he did his duties just right, he did his best as a ruler. But Sansa felt it.

“Jon... What’s wrong? Tell me.” she said, sitting down next to him.

“Nothing.” he averted his eyes.

“Don't do that! I know there’s something that bothers you. Don't shut me out, brother.  _Please._  You said we have to trust each other, didn’t you?”

He remained silent for a while. Sansa started to think that he won’t answer at all, but then he nodded. When he spoke, his voice was low and sad.

“When I was Lord Commander... I did everything I could, Sansa. To protect the people, to protect the living. It was not enough. And I died. Now, I’m a king, and I have no fucking idea what I should do. I’m trying, but it’s not enough. It is never enough. We have no chance to win, and I...”

Sansa heard the despair in his voice. She didn’t really know how to comfort him, so she simply hugged him.

“Jon.” The terrible things he spoke about before, the white walkers, the dead, none of them seemed as real as in that moment.  _Does he blame himself? Does he think with someone else we would do better?_

“Jon... If we have no chance, we die. All right. But if we  _have_  a chance, we have it with you as our king. You are the only one who can lead us against them.” her voice sounded almost pleading.  _Don't do this to yourself, brother._

She didn’t get an answer.

 

The queen

 

“What do you think, Tyrion?”

“Personally, I don’t trust in her. Melisandre served Stannis before, and when it was obvious that he will lose, she left him behind without a second thought. But I trust Jon Snow, Your Garce. If he’s the same man I met all those years ago...”

“And if he isn’t?”

“That would be unfortunate. But nevertheless, we must make as many allies as we can. The North is a potential ally. We need them.”

“I see. Then summon this... King in the North, Lord Hand. Write a letter to Jon Snow. Tell him that he ought to come here and bend the knee.”

“Right away, My Queen. Although I must warn you, the northerners are stubborn and proud. Even if he answers the call and comes here for some reason, I doubt that he would bend the knee.

“Well, he doesn’t have a choice.”

 

The squire

 

“Have you ever been with a woman, boy? How old are you? Twelve?”

“Fourteen.” said Eric blushing, embarrassed.  _Do I look like a twelve years old? And he is asking if I…?_

The wildling laughed out loudly. “Heh, that’s an age, brat. Do ya drink? Taste this! It’s far better than the shit ya southerners drink.”

“What are those questions? Have you gotten drunk already, Tormund? With that goat piss in your hand it wouldn’t be a surprise.” grinned the king.

“Nah, I’m just curious of your… What was it, servant?”

“Squire.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Scure. So, boy, have you–”

“–Leave him alone, we have more important matters to discuss.”

Eric listened to the dialogue disbelievingly. They seemed close friends. How could they end up like this? 

It was early in the afternoon. He, the wildling, King Jon and the King’s Hand were sitting in the library, holding a… council meeting.  _Quite strange of a council_ , Eric thought. He had no idea why he was even there.

“We should decide what to do with the Dreadfort. The Boltons –” started Ser Davos frowning impatiently, but got almost immediately interrupted by the three loud knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Lady Sansa entered, the Maester close on her heels. The latter spoke immediately.

“Your Grace, a letter has just arrived.”

“A letter?”

“Yes. And –”

“Jon, it has the Targaryen sigil on it.” exclaimed the Lady of Winterfell.

Everyone stared at the parchment in the Maester’s hand, except the wildling.

“Give it to me.” said His Grace. Wolkan handed over the roll.

“Who do you think it is from?” asked Lady Sansa.

“The last living Targaryen I heard about besides Maester Aemon was the Dragon Queen, Daenerys.”

“The Mad King’s daughter.”

“Aye.”

“Hey, who the fuck are you talking, about? C’mon, Jon, ya know I’m not in this topic of the southerner bitches.”

“Well, she is… The Seven Kingdoms had a terrible king about twenty-two years ago, and she is his daughter. She was exiled to Essos when Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne. ”

 _And she is said to be the most beautiful woman in the world,_  mused the squire.

“Essos? Where the heck is that?”

“That’s another continent, pretty far from here.”

“Ahem. So what does she want?”

“Let’s find out.”

_I wonder if it’s really her… I haven’t heard lot about her, but she freed slaves, so she can't be a bad person, can she? What could a person like Daenerys Targaryen want from us? And does she really have dragons?_

The king opened the letter, brows furrowed.

Two or three minutes passed silently before he stated:

“She came back to Westeros. Daenerys Targaryen is here.”

 

The king

 

“Jon, you can't.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t! We can't risk it. We can't risk losing you!”

“We can't risk losing our only chance of survival, Sansa.”  _You must understand it, sister._

“Then send someone instead of you!”

“I can't, and you know that. She is a queen. A queen won't negotiate with anyone but a king.”

“She doesn’t want to negotiate with you, she wants you to bend the knee!”

“I know exactly what she wants, but we need her and her dragons. I’ll go there and convince her.”

“You know that you can't kneel to her. The lords would never accept it.”

Jon sighed. “I know. But I must go nonetheless.”

“She is the Mad King’s daughter, Jon! Did you forget what happened the last time a Stark met a Targaryen? Or did you forget the last time the King in the North went south?” The painful memory of Robb found his way into his mind. “What do you think she will do when she learns that you won't obey her?”

“It was Tyrion who wrote the letter, remember? He signed it as  _Hand of Queen Daenerys Targaryen._  Do you think he would support her if she was mad? And surely he knows that we won't bend. He wouldn’t have written if he wasn’t certain that I’ll come back alive.”

“He may be wrong.”

“Aye. He may be. But that is a risk we have to take.”

“What of Winterfell? You are King in the North, you can't just leave.”

“I’m not just leaving. Winterfell will be in good hands.”

“Good hands? Whose hands?”

“The hands of the last Stark.”

“You can't.” her voice sounded weak and desperate.

“I can and I will. There always must be a Stark in Winterfell. And I’m not even a Stark. It belongs to you by right.”

“No, it is yours now, you are a king –”

“I don’t feel myself like a king, Sansa. But if I am one, then I have to behave like one. A king does what is right for his people.”

He didn’t want to go. He really didn’t. He didn’t want to leave his sister here, alone.

But he made it up in his mind.

He had to try everything to save their people.

_Let us meet, Daenerys Targaryen._

He hoped he made the right decision.

 

 

The Queen's Hand

 

He stood outside the fortress, on his favourite cliff, facing the sea.

It had been three weeks and a half since they landed on Dragonstone, and fortunately, everything turned out well so far. They managed to make the castle their own, and they could form an alliance with Ellaria Sand from Dorne and Olenna Tyrell from Highgarden.

However, they decided not to start their conquest immediately. It would’ve been dangerous to send their forces to Sunspear on the sea, since – as Yara reminded them – Euron had a massive fleet of around one thousand ships out there. They couldn’t risk it.

The wisest thing they could do for now was to obtain as many allies and supporters as they could.

Every day, there was at least two or three smaller houses arriving and declaring themselves to Daenerys. Still, the one they were waiting for the most hadn’t arrived yet.

Tyrion couldn’t believe his eyes when they had received the letter with the Stark sigil on it. He didn’t think they would answer the call, therefore it had been a really pleasant surprise.  _So, we are about to meet again, Bastard of Winterfell. A lot of things happened to both of us, it seems. I can't wait to speak with you, my friend._

_But I wonder why you accepted the invitation. I'm sure that you won’t bend the knee. The lords of the North would never allow that._

In that moment, he catched a glimpse of a particular banner on an approaching ship.

 _Well,_ he mused,  _we will find it out soon enough._

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I'm sorry of the long delay! When I started the fic I didn't know that I will have such a crazy schedule during these months. It seems like I won't have very much free time until the end of March, so I can't promise an update anytime soon... At least, this is a long chapter (almost 1000 words longer than a 'usual' ch).  
> I hope it's not that big of a disappointment :)

 

 

* * *

 

 

The wildling

 

They were a pain in the ass, the fuckin’ southerner  _lords_. They knew nothing of the real North, they knew nothing of those monsters.

“Shitty little cocksuckers, that’s what they are.” he murmured.

“Did you say something?” asked the boy.

“Yeah, that you shouldn’t shit yourself when we get there, brat.”

“Don’t worry, I won't. And my name is Eric.” he seemed annoyed. It reminded him the times when he met Jon. He liked the kid.

“All right, Ricky boy.”

“ _Eric_.” Jon had also been like this in the first few days. Bitter, frustrated and so damned defiant, sometimes he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh at him or punch him hard.

That was a long time ago, though.

“Careful now! If ya keep being so morose you’ll be like that broody king of yours.” Tormund snickered “Ricky boy.”

“I can't imagine how on the earth did someone like you become the king’s friend.”

The wildling barked a laugh. “He’s not so different from me. He’d gotten a taste of the wildling life, ya know. He lived with us for a while.”

The dismay was clear on Eric’s face. “With you?”

“Yeah, with us. Ya can't believe it, eh? You know nothin’ of him, boy. You all know nothin’.”

Eric looked away.

“I know some things, though. I know what happened when he was the Lord Commander.” the smile faded from Tormund’s face.

“Do you?”

“Aye. He told me about it briefly.” the look on the younger’s face was so strange he would’ve laughed if not for the topic. “He got killed by his own men because he let the wildlings through. Let  _you_  through.” Now he met him in the eye, raising his voice. “I don’t understand. You were enemies. And why was he with you? He’s the most honourable man I’ve ever met, he was sworn to defend the Realm from you –”

“–Hey, hey, hey, hey, stop it.” Tormund interrupted. “Calm down, for fuck’s sake, boy, before you say something you’d regret later.”

“Why would I regret saying the truth?”

“ ’Cause that’s not the fucking truth, that’s why. Unless you put aside your damn hatred,”

“I don’t–”

“Yes, ya do hate us, I see it in your eyes. The way you look at us.” he liked the boy but he was just as idiotic and naïve as the rest of the fucking  _kneelers_. “You try to deny it ‘cause you respect the little Crow King, you praise him and try to accept his decisions while ya look at us like we were nothing but some large pieces of shit.” he almost snarled “You fucking don’t understand Jon Snow, so stop pretending you do until you see everything as it is.”

The boy was speechless.

“So, he told you what happened  _briefly_.”

Eric slowly nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

“And what exactly did he tell?”

“He… That…” The squire – that was how he was called, wasn’t it? – tried to compose himself. “He told me that after he was chosen to be Lord Commander, he realized that it was his duty to let you pass… And that his own brothers murdered him for it… And Stannis’ Red Priestess brought him back.”

“You respect him but you think what he did was a mistake.”

“He let you through and died because of it.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Ya keep sayin’ that he let us pass and died.  _You don’t get it_. You don’t understand  _why_ he let us pass, and you don’t even try to understand it, because you hate us,  _the wildlings_. I don’t care if you have a real reason or not to hate us, it’s time for you to open your pretty eyes, Ricky boy.”

“He let us through for two reasons. One, he realized that we are fucking  _people_ too _,_  boy. Our biggest fault is that we were born on the wrong side of a shitty wall of ice.” he said slowly and forcefully.  “And two, there are fucking dead people beyond that wall. And fucking ice fuckers who lead’em. If we had stayed there we would’ve died, all of us. And the dead people of the Free Folk would’ve turned into monsters with rotten flesh and blue eyes.” Tormund shook his head. “He didn’t die because of us, he died  _for_  us. And for  _you_. Know the difference.”

Eric averted his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

 

The squire

 

Tormund was right. Despite the fact that he tried to convince himself that he didn’t hate the wildlings for what they did to Ryd all those years ago, deep inside he despised them. And it was a stupid thing to do. You mustn’t judge a whole folk for the sins of four persons.

And now, just as the ginger said, it was time for him to open his eyes.  _I wonder if Lyanna would be angry with me if she knew what I was thinking of these people._  But she was aware of it, he realized. She even asked him if he was all right with the King’s decisions.  _It seems she knows me better than me myself._  ‘You are a good man too, Eric’, she said.  _Far from it._  He thought of the King.  _I really don’t understand him, do I?_

“And you? You understand him?”

“Better than many, but… Nah, of course not. No one can see what’s behind Jon Snow’s pretty curls. But we’re friends.”

“How did that happen?”

“I told you already, he lived with us for a while. I liked the brat, after a while I even thought that he became one of us. I think it was only Ygritte who knew he was still a crow.”

“Crow? And who’s Ygritte?”

“Ygritte was the girl he loved and fucked whenever they got a moment alone.”

 “Fu–”

“–Yeah, yeah, don’t interrupt me, I’d rather be through the explanation quickly. So, I think his lover was the only one who knew that he didn’t betray the Night’s Watch. Then one day, after we climbed the Wall together, ”

“You climbed the Wall?”

“Don’t interrupt me, I said. We did. One day, when he was given the opportunity, he ran away. He went and warned the crows that we were coming. He told them about our signs, our numbers, everything. It was a bloody fight, I tell you, boy. Many died that night. Ygritte too. I have no idea how it happened, but it did. We couldn’t take Castle Black. I got captured, along with a few of us. But the Free Folk wasn’t about to give up, we would’ve tried it again if not for that Stannis fucker. He and his damned army appeared, and we had no chance. He had the King Beyond the Wall burnt, he destroyed our hopes. Our chance of survival. But when Jon became Commander, he gave it back to us. He let me and my captured fellows free and went with us to Hardhome to save everyone. We used Stannis’ ships to get there. And we would’ve made it if the dead hadn’t attacked. They had, and barely 10 000 of us escaped. The rest? We saw as they laid there, dead. As the Night King raised his hands. As the lifeless bodies started to move again. It was terrible. Every single one of us would’ve shared their fate if not for Jon. I’ll always be in his debt. And I’ll always be his friend.” Tormund eyed him as they rode. It was a quite funny sight, seeing the big man on a horse. It took almost a month to have him learn how to ride.

“I’ll tell you one more thing, Ricky boy. We hadn’t fought for centuries with the crows for fun. Well, most of us hadn’t. We had done it for survival. No one can live beyond the wall.”

Eric fell silent. He didn’t understand everything Tormund said (the wildling was the worst storyteller he’d ever met * ), but he felt like he started to see more clearly now.  _They are people. They wanted to survive. Dead men are coming._

“Do we have a chance of defeating them?”

“You should ask a question I know the answer to. Maybe if Snow can convince the Dragon Bitch. We are lucky you damned southerners allowed him to go.”

“Without her?”

“We are fuckin’ dead. Ya don’t know how many monsters are waiting for us out there. If what they say, that the woman has three dragons and two armies is true, we may have a chance.”

“It will be hard to bring her here. He can't kneel for her.”

“Yeah, that bloody pride ruins everything. These little  _lords_  of yours don’t get how serious our situation is. Mance Rayder knew it, he didn’t bow and he died, leaving despair behind him. The lords don’t know anything, they won't bow, and they’ll all fucking die.”

“You say that the King should bend the knee?”

“I say that if kissing someone’s ass is what it takes to stop those blue-eyed shits, then everyone should do that. But those stubborn bastards won't get it, so Jon cannot kneel. You southerners know nothing of honour and loyalty, as much as you like to speak about it. They’d just betray him as his so-called  _brothers_  did.”

“…Why didn’t he tell everyone?”

“That he got killed? I don’t know, brat, but it cannot be his happiest memory, you know. And I’m not sure that it would help if his men thought him a monster.”

“They wouldn’t –”

Eric gasped. He was so focused on their conversation that he didn’t even notice as they approached their destination.

The Wall was tall.  _Fucking enormous._

“I said you shouldn’t shit yourself when you see it.”

 

The she-wolf

 

“Ah, that was a good day. Do you remember the faces the Stark men made when we started the  _real celebration_? The face Lady Catelyn made when the sly old fox, Roose stabbed his son? The Young Wolf’s fall. The history will remember us for it! We should be proud of ourselves!” said Lord Walder, lifting up his cup. “For the Freys!”

“For the Freys!” cheered the men at the tables loudly, before they started to drink.

“Yeah, the Freys… The doughty Freys, the glorious Freys! It felt good, right? Murdering your king and his soldiers, along with his mother, his wife, and his unborn child! You should be boasting!”

Someone started to cough. Then all of them did.

“And then you desecrated Robb Stark’s body. You chopped off his head and replaced it with his wolf’s. It was funny, right?”

The coughing became louder and louder.

“You killed two wolves that night. But you made a big mistake. You forgot that Robb and Grey Wind had not been the last members of the pack.” the old man smirked. “Leave one wolf alive and the sheep are never safe.”

Bodies fell to the floor. And Arya separated Walder Frey’s face from hers.

She turned to the last living soul in the hall besides her, a trembling servant girl.

“If anyone asks about what happened here, tell them: Winter came for House Frey.”

Then she walked out.

 

The king

 

“At some point, I want to hear how a Night’s Watch recruit became King in the North.”

“As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen.”

They were climbing up on the stairs towards the castle. Jon and Tyrion were at the front, the others – Davos, six northern soldiers, the queen’s advisor and the Dothraki – were a few steps behind them. Ghost didn’t follow the group, he went off somewhere as soon as they left the skiff.

“A long and bloody tale. To be honest, I was drunk for most of it.”

Jon laughed. “That’s just like you. Some things never change?” He really liked this man. He didn’t think that they would ever meet again.

“Some things never change.” agreed the imp.

 

“My bannermen think I’m a fool for coming here.”

“Will you bend the knee?”

“No, I won't.”

“Then I have to agree with them, my friend.” sighed Tyrion. “You should consider it.”

“You know just as much as I do that the lords of the North would never accept it. Never accept her.”

“She is not like her father.”

“I hoped so. But you’d be a bigger fool than me if you thought that it stops the hatred of the northerners.”

“You are a northerner too. Do you hate her?”

“I don’t hate someone I’ve never met.”

“Well then, at least we have a more or less stable spot to stand on. Prejudice is something that makes negotiations harder.”

“And your queen? What should I expect?”

“…It’s hard to say. Sometimes she tends to be… a little bit… harsh… But she is a good ruler. A worthy queen.”

“What does she think of me?”

“I don’t know, to be honest. ”

“We’ll see it soon, I suppo –” said the king as they reached the top of the stone stairs, but got interrupted by a deafening roar.

Three  _enormous_  dragons appeared from behind the fortress, flying towards them. Flying towards them, but Jon felt like they were heading  _directly_  towards  _him_. They landed with a loud thud and almost immediately started to crawl in their direction.

Jon barely perceived that everyone else was on the ground, leaving him the only one standing in front of three huge monsters. He couldn’t move. He felt some kind of a strange warmth spreading through his body as the first dragon – maybe dark green, but it was hard to determine so suddenly – approached him.

The other two – a cream colored and a black – stopped behind the green, all three of them looking at him curiously.  _Wait, why do I know that it’s curiosity?_

He was confused, even more, because he didn’t feel any fear.  _They don’t want to hurt me._

His body was stiff, like a statue of stone, unable to react, unable to do anything. He stared in the big, bronze eyes in front of him.  _So close, so close…_  The dragon’s head was inches from his, he felt the heat radiating from the creature.

Seconds passed – or hours? He didn’t know. The only thing he knew was that they stood opposite to each other, their eyes locked. He felt like the dragon was speaking to him. ‘ _I know you.’_

Then suddenly, it turned and ascended to the air, almost hitting down on Jon with its tail. The cream and black followed their brother’s lead.

For moments, neither of them could speak. Then Tyrion got up somehow. He was white as a ghost.

“I’d say you get used to them, but in truth, you never really do.”

“Was that… a common thing?”

“Well… not exactly. I can't recall if they had ever done something like this.”

“Holy shit.”

“Um… I think we should keep going.” said Missandei –  _It was Missandei, right?_  – , still startled and a bit out of breath.

Everyone stood up awkwardly, muttering indistinct words.

“Oh, right, let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

“Let us.”

“Aye.”

 

Two soldiers held open the two-winged iron door. Jon and his companions went in the throne room.

Tyrion, Missandei, and the Dothraki guards took their places next to the throne, the king walked to the middle of the hall. Davos stood close to him, the rest of his company behind them.

Missandei stepped forward. “You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the…”

Then his eyes found hers. Grey meeting the violet. The sight was mesmerizing. He had never seen before a woman as beautiful as her. She was petite, yet the large throne didn’t swallow her, it only emphasized her queenly appearance. Her face was round, her lips full and rosy, the silver waves of her hair held back by two braids on the sides of her head. And her eyes… Her eyes were like two lilac diamonds, piercing and serious, yet somehow  _kind_...

He felt like he was set aflame, his inside burning with awe and wonder and fear. He couldn’t avert his eyes, she captured him, entirely and dangerously.

When Ser Davos spoke, he realized that Missandei finished the introduction, but he barely heard anything of it.

“This is Jon Snow.”

He felt slightly embarrassed.

“He is King in the North.” added the knight a bit late, awkwardly.

“Welcome to Dragonstone. I am grateful you travelled so far, my lord. I hope the seas weren’t too rough.” her tone was polite, yet stern and royal. Jon had just realized how different they were. She  _really_ was a queen. And he…

“The seas were kind, Your Grace.” he forced out.

But before the queen could talk again, Ser Davos called out. “Apologies,  _Queen_  Daenerys.” He accentuated the word ‘queen’. “I know I have a Flea Bottom accent, but Jon Snow is not a  _lord_. He is  _King_  in the North.”  _‘if he acknowledges you, you should acknowledge him’_  Ser Davos’ expression said.

“Forgive me…”

“Your Grace, this is Ser Davos Seaworth.”

“Forgive me, Ser Davos. I never did receive a formal education, but I could’ve sworn I read the last King in the North was Torrhen Stark, who bent the knee to my ancestor, Aegon Targaryen. And not only for his reign, but for perpetuity. Forever. Or do I have my facts wrong?”

“I wasn’t there, Your Grace.”

“No, of course not. But still, an oath is an oath. So I assume, my lord…” Their eyes met again. Jon sighed.  _She doesn’t understand_ said a voice in his head.  _And she won't unless you make her understand. Be a king for once_ said another. “… You are here to bend the knee.”

He took a deep breath.

“I am not.”

Daenerys’ smile was colder than ice.

“Oh. Well, that is unfortunate. You’ve travelled all this way to break faith with House Targaryen?”  _Is she serious?_

“Break faith? Do you know what your father did to my Uncle? To my grandfather?”

The queen looked at Tyrion. “Is there something you forgot to mention?”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. That’s not a nice story.”

“I don’t remember requesting that you keep from me  _anything_. Even if it’s not ‘nice’.”

The imp shifted awkwardly. Jon felt for him, but also couldn’t help being annoyed that his friend didn’t tell her something like this.

“After your brother kidnapped my aunt…”

“How can you be so sure he kidnapped her?”

“It’s a common knowledge.”

“Maybe it is, in the North.”

His annoyance only grew with her words.

“Regardless of that, my uncle had the right to go to the capital and demand an explanation at the very least. And your father’s answer was not too kind, I hope you can imagine.” His hands clenched into fists.  _You know who your father was, don’t you, Dragon Queen?_  “Brandon Stark was thrown in the castle dungeons, and Rickard Stark was summoned to answer for the non-existing crimes of his son. And do you know what happened when the Lord of Winterfell arrived?” It was a question, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Lord Rickard was burned alive inside his armor with wildfire, while there was a rope tied around Brandon’s neck, with a sword mere inches from his hands, just far enough so he couldn’t reach it. He was so desperate to save his father that he strangled himself by trying to reach the sword. They were forced to see each other dying. After that, there’s no  _faith_  to break with House Targaryen.”

He had no idea why he became so angry. Those people were long dead, and he had never met them. And this was absolutely not the right time to discuss the past.

The queen seemed shocked. She once again looked at her Hand, who simply nodded in confirmation, lowering his eyes.

However, she composed herself quickly. Although when she spoke, her voice was much softer, almost  _regretful._

“My father was an evil man. What he did was disgusting and…” She seemed struggling to find the words. “On behalf of house Targaryen I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family.” she said, much to his dismay.  _She apologized? What kind of a queen does that?_  And Jon saw it in her eyes, she meant it. For a moment, Cersei’s face appeared in his mind, she had been the only queen he had ever met before.

The Lannister and the Targaryen queen. When he received the letter at Winterfell, he couldn’t help but imagine the two to be alike, however… He had been wrong, maybe? But while he appreciated the apology, he couldn’t give in just because of that.

“You have it, Queen Daenerys. You have my forgiveness. I don’t judge a daughter for her father’s sins. Still, the North won't forget them. And it won't forget the disastrous reign of Robert Baratheon, nor Joffrey’s cruelty. The North won't forget the sufferings the South caused in the past thirty years. I’m sure you’ve heard it already: the North remembers. We won't kneel to the South. Not anymore.” He raised his voice more and more.

“And actually yes, you have your facts wrong. It was not Torrhen Stark the last King in the North. It was my brother, Robb Stark, first– and trueborn son of Lord Eddard Stark. He didn’t kneel. And neither will I.”  _Shit. I have to calm down. I’m on a straight way towards burning alive. Am I pulling a dragon’s tail?_

Daenerys stared at him with a bit wider eyes, but seemingly unmoved, her face again rigorous without any softness on it.

“Your father… Lord Eddard Stark. He was Robert’s best friend, wasn’t he? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib.”

 _Assassins? Robert sent assassins after her? And father knew it? No._  Suddenly, he realized that except the gossips he knew nothing about her.

“Your Grace, I didn’t know anything about Robert Baratheon and his actions, but I knew my father. I can assure you, if he’d known about Robert’s actions, he would’ve stopped him.” the words came slowly and calmly.  _My father would never have let that pig do such a disgusting and dishonourable move. But she doesn’t know that, so of course, she despises him._

“Your father chose the wrong king. You– ”

 “ –I won't bend the knee.” at that, he saw a flash of anger in her eyes.

“I am the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms, it doesn’t matter how you regard it. I hope you are aware of that,  _my Lord,_  that if you don’t swear fealty to me, you are in open rebellion.”   _Now she is being arrogant again?_  For a brief (too brief) moment he thought that she may be different, but that proved to be a false hope. She was still a narrow-minded monarch like any other in the past, it seemed.

“You are a queen because your father was a king, and not even a good one. As I said, I won't bend the knee to you.” he pronounced slowly.  _I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. And it’s not like I do._

“Then why are you here?” asked the queen after a short silence. Her eyes were piercing, her tone didn’t promise anything good. Those few words were enough to get him shudder.  _Don’t let yourself be intimidated, Jon Snow, not now. You can’t back out. Be that fucking king you are supposed to be._

“Because I need your help. And you need mine.”  _Here comes the hard part. Gods, help me._

“Did you see the Unsullied and the Dothraki outside, all of whom sworn to kill for me?” she narrowed her eyes.

“They are hard to miss.”

“And have you noticed the three large dragons flying above the castle?”

“Yes, actually I had the… pleasure of meeting them personally.” He still remembered the dragon’s big, bronze eyes.

The Dragon Queen looked at Tyrion with a frown on her beautiful face.  _Jon, not now. Don’t think about how beautiful she is._

“What does Lord Snow mean, Tyrion?” Jon felt himself stiffen at the name, the colour draining from his face. It took every bit of his strength not to wince or step back.  _Don't show it._ He was grateful they were not close enough to see his sudden vulnerability.

“Well, your children… decided to… greet us.”

“They greeted you?” the doubt and confusion clear on her face.

“They landed before us. Or actually not before us, rather before Lord Snow. And after that, they simply stared at him, then… Flew away.”

The queen seemed speechless.

“All three of them?”

“Yes, though Rhaegal was at the front, and he seemed the most eager. The other two stayed behind him.”

Daenerys looked at Missandei, who nodded.

Then she looked at him again, as if it was the very first time she laid her eyes on him.

“We have to examine this later, I suppose.” she eyed him for a few moments before she continued the original conversation. “So… You saw the dragons. But still, I need your help?”

“Not to defeat Cersei.” Davos hurried to clarify. “You could storm King’s Landing tomorrow, and the city would fall.”

_How long had she been here? She knows how strong she is, and yet…_

“But you haven’t stormed King’s Landing.” called out Jon. Suddenly every eye was on him. “Why not? The only reason I can see is you don’t want to kill thousands of innocent people.” He saw her swallowing, as though she didn’t want him to say it aloud. “It’s the fastest way to win the war, but you won't do it, which means, at the very least, you’re better than Cersei.”

“Still, that doesn’t explain why I need your help.”  _Oh, right. I have yet to convince her._

“Because we all have a common enemy. Me, You, Cersei. Everyone. ”

“A common enemy?” she narrowed her eyes.

“Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter’s over if we don’t defeat the enemy to the North.”

“As far as I can see, you are the enemy to the North.”

“I am not your enemy.” he exclaimed. “The dead are the enemy. The Army of the Dead is on the march.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Aww, I think that's me. Love you too, Eric.
> 
> Next chapter Dany will be a bit more talkative, I suppose. She won't let Jon have the upper hand all along, will she? Hm...
> 
> Thanks for the reading :) Feedback is very much appreciated, please leave kudos or a comment if you liked it :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter :) I update it now, because I'll hardly have time until the end of March (Hoooolyshit that's more than a month), so... What I wanted to say is that please don't forget me, I probably won't die (Lol), I'll continue this when my exams finish.  
> Kudos, bookmarks and comments (Ahh, the comments. I like the comments, they give me strength :D) are appreciated!

* * *

 

The sly man

 

Walder Frey was an old fool, but a useful one. It was so easy to manipulate him it almost hurt. And not even one person suspected that they were connected. He was the perfect man to put the next step into effect.

The first was Ned Stark. His had been the most satisfying death. The bloody northerner stood in the way, and not only that, he was the cause of that Cat had been stolen from him again. Again! After Brandon had been killed by Aerys, he thought that he could be with the love of his life… But no, her parents passed Catelyn to the next suitor, the new heir of Winterfell. It was a pleasure, making sure that his head rested on a spike for months. All it took was a few whispered words in Joffrey’s ears.

Then came Joff. Now, that was a brilliant move. He got rid of not only the little Lannister bastard but Tyrion as well. It’s unfortunate the imp managed to escape somehow. It had to be Varys. And of course, he won Sansa’s trust. Ah, the little Sansa… She had so much of her mother in her. At the end of the game, he will sit on the Iron Throne, and Cat’s daughter will be his wife. It’s a shame he had to manipulate her too.

Slowly, with or without his help, everyone who stood in his way started to disappear. Ned, Robert, Cersei’s bastards, Robb Stark, Renly, Stannis, even Balon Greyjoy, though the ironborns had never been the ones to worry about. Only three left, and he won the game. Cersei Lannister. Daenerys Targaryen. Jon Snow. Cersei can come at the very end. Now his priorities were the foreign Queen and that damned bastard, the  _King in the North_.

The next step.

His men had been on their way already, the letter from the Twins arrived a few days ago.  _Wait for me, Jon Snow. You and the dragon whore won't live a long life. Everything will be mine, and mine alone. Your sister included. Sweet Sansa… You’ll be mine._

 

The queen

 

“The Army of the Dead?” Tyrion asked disbelievingly.

_What is he talking about?_

“You don’t know me well, my lord, but do you think I’m a liar or a madman?” asked back Jon Snow.

“No, I don’t think you are either of those things.”

_The Army… of the Dead?_

Their eyes met again, for the hundredth time. The violet met with the grey. She felt like she could lose herself in them, in those cold but not unkind irises.

The so-called King in the North was nothing like she thought he will be. She was waiting for a big, cocky northern brute who wanted nothing but to prove himself to be the strongest. That is what you’d expect from an essosi fighter, for example. Or a high-minded knight. But who came…

Jon Snow was short, much shorter than you’d imagine a legendary swordsman, barely a few inches taller than her. Although his words were a bit too harsh and unyielding to her liking, he was not full of himself, he didn’t act like he wanted to humiliate her as other men tried. He was stubborn and proud and didn’t seem to care that she could have him killed at any moment.

He didn’t bother himself with false pleasantries and empty small talk. He didn’t play the game.

And he was certainly  _handsome_.

While he was not tall, he was well-built and muscular. He had long face with dark brown hair, his features stern and weary but still soft and resolute at the same time, and his eyes… His grey eyes were so dark they almost seemed black, she felt like she could’ve drowned in their depth.

“The Army of the Dead is real. The white walkers are real. The Night King is real. I’ve seen them!” He nearly shouted, his dark eyes burning. “If they get past the Wall, and we’re squabblin’ amongst ourselves…”He tried to step ahead, but her guards moved instantly, stopping him. “… We are finished.”

“We are supposed to believe that?” she let out a brief, sarcastic laugh “Do you think that it is this simple? That you walk in here,  _you_ , a rebellious lord who refuse to bend the knee and won't recognize me as the rightful queen, and then you want  _me_  to help you.” she frowned.

“You must. ‘Cause that’s our only chance.”

A strange chill crawled up at Daenerys’ spine.  _He can't say the truth, can he?_  He seemed so desperate. But… _It’s just not possible._  She suddenly remembered Drogo. _The dead are dead._

Yet when they were little, Viserys would tell her about these stories, about the White Walkers and the dead army. But he always said that they were stupid tales for frightening the children.  _‘But we are dragons, dear sister. Dragons do not fear._ ’ he would say.

He had never described the monsters, yet she often dreamed about them. In her dreams, they were ugly, brainless creatures with empty, blue eyes and rotting flesh, and their leaders, the walkers, they were white and cold and mute and cruel…

 _They are not real, dear sister…_  she almost heard Viserys’ voice. But Viserys was wrong about so many things.

She realized that she was simply staring at the northerner for some time now, who was waiting for her to speak.

 _It’s not true, what you are saying, Jon Snow. It can't be, I don’t believe you._  She felt like she was rather convincing herself… Lord Snow’s eyes were just so… honest.  _No, he wants to set a trap._

“It’s just ridiculous.” she saw again, the anger raising in the northerner’s eyes.

“It won't be so ridiculous when dead men will surround you as far as you can see.”

 _Does he realize how this all sounds?_ She stood up and started to walk towards him, never broking the eye contact.  _I am a dragon, Lord Snow._

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert's assassins could find us.

I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me, I don't remember all their names.

I have been sold like a broodmare. I've been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled.” suddenly the image of Drogo taking her from behind flashed in her mind. Eventually she grew to care for her  _Sun and Stars_ , but still, that memory was painful… Dreadful even. That was when the girl she had been before got destroyed. She clenched her fists.  _I am a dragon and I am strong. These tales of yours won't frighten me._  “Do you know what kept me standing, through all those years in exile? Faith. Not in any god, not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen.

The world hadn't seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn't crossed the sea, any sea. They did for me.

I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and I will.”

It was hard to identify the feelings that crossed the young man’s beautiful face. There was no pity, but… Sadness? Anger? Bitterness? Understanding? Awe? Maybe all of them. And she saw it again… Pure honesty.

His voice was low but clear. “You’ll be ruling over a graveyard if we don’t defeat the Night King.”

They were staring at each other. Again. It was like their eyes were speaking instead of them. His message was clear.  _It’s the truth_ , he said, without words.

Ser Davos stepped forward.

“You don't believe him. I understand that, it sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North. You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros? He is the first to make allies of wildlings and Northmen.” The King in the North was clearly uncomfortable, looking anywhere but in her eyes during the speech, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.  _He doesn’t like when someone is speaking about him like this. I wonder why._

“He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he was named King in the North. Not because of his birthright. He has no birthright, he's a damn bastard. All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader because they believe in him. All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things. He fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife to the heart for his people. He gave his own l—”

The Onion Knight became more and more heated as he spoke, but suddenly, Lord Snow looked at him and stopped him from saying what he wanted.

_He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own l—… What did he want to tell us? He gave his own life? No. That cannot be._

The old advisor continued, now calmly and slowly.

“If we don't put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne.”

“The war against my sister has already begun.” started her Hand. “You can't expect us to hold hostilities and join you fighting–”

“Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys interrupted softly, confusing even herself. Her friend was right, she knew she should’ve let him speak, let him try to convince this King in the North, but she didn’t.  She had no idea why. Tyrion looked at her strangely but eventually nodded.

The silence was deafening. Jon Snow slowly lifted his head.

“Your Grace, I won't bend the knee to you. The northern lords won't accept you, they won't accept anyone except the one they chose. It doesn’t make sense that they chose me, but since they did, I’ll do my best as their king.” he almost unnoticeably hesitated before the ‘king’ word. “The reason for which I came here is not challenging you. It’s out of necessity. We need each other. We really do.”

She contemplated. She remembered that her fool of a brother always thought that the men of Westeros were drinking secret toasts in his name, waiting for his return. But Daenerys was not her brother.

The northerners really had reasons to despise the Targaryens. They couldn’t immediately trust her. She had to prove herself. She had to show them who she was.

And there was Jon Snow’s story about the threat to the North. It was unbelievable, yet she couldn’t simply dismiss it.

She had a lot to think about, and her guests were obviously tired.

She caught herself searching for his eyes. She’d never seen such a sad look in her life. But she felt like she’d met those big, grey eyes before... So familiar…

“I think we should finish this for now. We can continue our conversation later. You’ll all be tired after your long journey. We will have baths drawn for you and supper sent to your rooms.” she turned to one of her bloodriders. “Idriso jin mahrashis gacheshaan mori. Ti morea chek vosma vitihiri mora.  _(Escort these men to their rooms. Treat them well, but keep an eye on them.)_ ”

“Are we your prisoners?” she felt his glare on her back.

“It depends on what you consider being a prisoner.” she said, looking back evenly at him.

Snow clearly wanted to say something more, but hesitated. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and glared at her with an irritated expression on his face.

When Ser Davos placed a hand on his King’s shoulder, he gave her a reluctant, bitter and angry nod and marched out of the Throne Room.

 

As the northerners departed, Daenerys turned to Tyrion. “Meet me in two hours at the Painted Table.” He bowed his head.

 

 _So, this is Jon Snow._  While it angered her that he didn’t – haven’t – bend the knee, she understood and acknowledged his arguments. And while the things he said were impossible, she realized that she… almost… believed him.  _I experienced many impossible things myself, after all._

As they spoke, her mind was filled with terrible images of dead people with rotten flesh and empty, blue eyes…

 _What if he says the truth?_  Her hands were shaking slightly.

_And what was that comment about the knife to the heart?_

 

The squire

 

“So, what is your name? It would be awkward to call you ‘Jon’s squire’ all along. ”

“I’m Eric Mormont.”

“Ah, a Mormont. So Jeor Mormont was your relative? What, grandfather?”

“Actually not, a… A great uncle or something like that, I’m not sure.”

The man laughed. It irked him, but he had nothing to do about it. He felt like lately everyone was making fun of him. “And who are you?”

“Oh, sorry, where are my manners. Edd Tollet. I’m one of Jon’s friends, he left the Watch to me, when he… Well… Left to Winterfell.” Edd glanced toward the gate. “Are you alone? Jon wrote in his letter that there’ll be eight of you.”

Eric sighed. “Yeah, Tormund is with me, and there are six soldiers from Winterfell. They went to see if you have something to eat.”

“Ah, that redhead wildling, right? Big man, big stomach.” the Night’s Watchman huffed a laugh. “Why are you here then? Are you not hungry?”

The boy let out an exasperated groan. “We’ll have time to eat once we’re done. I don’t want to waste time, my place is next to the King.”

“I’m sure Jon wouldn’t mind if you at least rested a few hours here…” at Eric’s annoyed look he seemed to change what he wanted to say. “But all right, as you wish. Come with me.”

“So, five of you will take one across the sea, right?” Edd asked as they walked, “And the other three will take one back to Winterfell.”

“Aye.”

At that the black brother hummed with approval. “Should've done it years ago, if you ask me. Once we sent a single hand to King’s Landing, but I think you can imagine how much it helped.”

 

He led them to the – what was their name again? – ice cells. “Here we are.”

Eric couldn’t help but feel nervous. He was about to see one for the first time.

“When Jon and his sister took back Winterfell, he’d sent me a message not to burn them. Though it’s a bit dangerous. They are in chains, but who knows what they can do.” then he turned to one of the black brothers guarding the cell and nodded. The man regarded them with a strange look and reluctantly put a big, iron key in the lock and opened the door. “Be careful.” he muttered.

“Bring the boxes and two more men.” Edd said instead of answering.

They stepped in. It was much colder than outside, Eric felt the cold infiltrating in his flesh, in his bones.

Something moved in the dark corner, out of the vibrating light of the torch. And when Edd lifted his hand up higher, suddenly a gruesome screech broke the silence.

It was terrible. The wight shook and screeched, trying to break free. He watched it with terror and disgust, it was hard to believe that such a creature once was a living man or… woman, he couldn’t even decide.

“This is…”

“This is what we are fighting against, boy. This is what waits for us all if we don’t defeat them.”

Eric stood there stunned, unable to move, to speak, to do anything.  _Holy shit._

“Edd.” three black brothers stood at the door, one of them – the one who let them in – had a big wooden box with iron corner brackets fastened on his back.

“Alright, let’s start. We should be able to do it with the five of us. Halder, bring a box. Jeren, Toad, you’ll be on its right side, I and Eric will manage the left.”

The man named Halder took the box off his back and placed it in front of the monster.

“Is the wood safe enough? Wouldn’t be better something that’s… stronger?” asked Eric anxiously.

“Don’t worry, boy. It’s Ironwood, Jon had them made for us by the Forresters. It’s harder than it seems and far less heavy than iron. Easier to move with it.”

He was not really convinced, but slowly nodded.  _Trust in the King._

“Let’s do it.”

 

The queen

 

“So, this is your friend, Tyrion. Jon Snow.” They were sitting next to the big, carved map of Westeros in the council room.

“What do you think of him?” asked her Hand.

“He is a strange man.”

“Why? I mean, that’s quite relative if someone’s strange or not. And to be honest, I wouldn’t say that any of us is normal.”

“You are right, I suppose…”  she furrowed her eyebrows “It didn’t seem like he was lying, yet…”

“What he says is impossible?” offered Tyrion.

“Yes. Or no.” she mused silently. “There are a lot of important lessons I’ve learnt during my journey, and one of them is that there are many things existing in the world one would think impossible. My children are the perfect example. Or me being immune to fire.”

“I’m glad you won't simply dismiss it as madness.”

“So you believe him, then?” she gulped.

“I don’t know what I believe and what I do not. Really.” He sighed. “Still, I know two things. One, Jon is not a liar. Whatever he saw out there is probably a threat. But two, we can't let Cersei get the upper hand. So it doesn’t matter what lies beyond the Wall. Our priority is my sister.”

“And what if… While we fight with Cersei, those  _things_ manage to pass the Wall?”

“Daenerys, I know what I said of Snow just now, but he  _may_  be wrong, we don’t know if they are real. Well, let’s say they are.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Commander Mormont also tried to warn us about some kind of danger a few years ago. But even then, the Wall has been standing since Brandon the Builder, why could they get through now? And if we go North, no doubt, Cersei’ll take the opportunity.”

“You’re right.” Yes, Tyrion was right. They had to pay attention to the enemy at hand. Still, her feeling of uneasiness didn’t fade. “And what do you think we should do about him?”

“Whom?”

“Don’t play dumb, Tyrion. He is not willing to bend the knee.”

“Well, that is not unexpected.”

Wasn't it? She scowled at him. “You mean you knew it? And you still called him here? You should’ve told me,” she said with an irritated tone.

“Forgive my boldness, but you wouldn’t have listened to me. Actually, I’m surprised to see that you are not upset.”

“He didn’t really do anything to deserve my wrath. I’m not angry.” That was not entirely true, of course. She  _was_  angry, it irked her that he didn’t bend the knee. But if what he said about the northern lords was true, their king bowing to her would make things much worse.

“Dorne and the Reach swore fealty to me because they had no better option. The North,” she motioned towards the end of the table, “found itself an option they think is better. What do you think they would do if Jon Snow bent the knee to me?” She walked there and took up a wooden figure of a fist – the symbol of one of the northern houses.

Her Hand sighed. “They would rebel, most likely.”

“I can't fight a war on two fronts.” She placed the figure in front of her forces.

“No, you can't.”

 _‘Your Grace, I won't bend the knee to you.’_   he said.  _‘The northern lords won't accept you, they won't accept anyone except the one they chose.’_  It was not his pride that stopped him from kneeling. Well, not entirely, it was undeniable that he was proud.  _And infuriatingly stubborn_. She really didn’t know where they stood. She was angry and annoyed and impressed and enthralled and excited and... So confused because of it.  _Damn him._

“It seems I have to accept that they won't acknowledge me as their queen, not yet at least. But I need the North nevertheless. What should I do?”

“I think it would help if you first got to know each other with the King in the North.”

“About getting know each other... It seemed like they were hiding something, didn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Your Grace.” Tyrion furrowed his brows, thinking.

“What was that Ser Davos said... About taking a knife in the heart for his people? Did you notice that?”

His eyes slightly widened as if he didn't expect for her to bring that up. “I... I don’t think it means anything. He just wanted to impress you, I suppose. And I did notice that Jon is not a man of unnecessary... Fancies and exaggeration. That’s why he stopped him. ”

“...If you say so. Well. Please inform Jon Snow that I wish him to accompany me to dinner.”

“Alone?”

“Alone. It will be easier to get to know him that way.”

“As you wish, My Queen.” said Tyrion standing up with a bow of his head. “Then, if you excuse me,” he turned to leave.

“Tyrion.”

“Your Grace?”

“What do you think, why did the dragons act so strange?”

“Hm… I don’t know, maybe they wanted to see if the wolf fears the dragon?” she didn’t miss the imp’s amused grin.

“And does he?”

“Does he?” Tyrion arched his eyebrows.

Daenerys smiled. “Hardly.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it seems I will have to start every chapter with a 'sorry for the delay' sentence :D  
> Seriously, I'm worse than Martin.  
> Anyway, here is the new update :)
> 
> Also, a thousand thanks to magnum12 for the help :)

* * *

 

 

The she-wolf

 

 _Frey men. Two._  She spotted them near the King’s Road, they were drinking and laughing next to a fire. Arya hid behind a tree, listening. She had already killed those who were the most responsible for her brother’s death, but even so, she felt her anger rising.  _Motherfuckers._

“Maybe we could fuck her dead body afterwards.” laughed one of them, a fat, red-haired one.

“I think that would be your best fuck in ages.” exclaimed the other and spit in the mud.

“Yours too, don’t deny it.”

“I don’t, but ya know, I prefer the chicks alive.”

“Then we will have her alive, what of it? ‘Least we’ll hear her screaming. They say she looks like a goddess, the foreign bitch.”

“I’d rather have a cheap whore from a nearby brothel, who doesn't have three damn fire-breathing monsters.”

_Daenerys? Are they speaking about her?_

“Nah, you can't possibly believe she has dragons. What are you, for fuck’s sake, a goddamn child?”

“I’m not the only one who believes it. Anyway, we shouldn’t go there.”

The ginger laughed mockingly. “You are afraid.  _Of a chick._ ”

“Say what you want, but I won't risk meeting the Mad King’s daughter.”  _Yes, they are talking about her._  “Crazy woman. Let them negotiate, her and that northern bastard, we’re not needed there. Those faceless fuckers will do the job instead of us, so at least let’s not waste our time with—”

He couldn’t finish, because a thin blade made its way through his throat. Eyes wide, he opened his mouth a few times before he fell to the ground. His companion cursed and pulled out his dagger, but Arya was faster; she lunged at him and stabbed Needle in his right eye. The man let out a cry of agony, then collapsed.

“Bitch.” She turned, just in time to avoid the arrow aimed for her chest... Instead, she felt a sharp pain just above her elbow and fell back. She looked down to her wounded arm instinctively, and the distraction was just enough for the third Frey soldier, whom she hadn’t notice before, to nock another arrow on his bow.

“Gone to piss, and guess what? When I come back I see that a rat’s killed my mates. You’ll fuckin’ die now.”

She was aware she made a mistake, she should have checked if there were more of them. But she just couldn’t bear it anymore.  _Don't fucking threaten my friend._  She tried to get on her feet again but she knew it was too late. The man drew the bowstring...

Then suddenly, he was on the ground with a large, furry body above him. He tried to shove the wolf off of him, but his hand met a pair of long and sharp fangs. There was a sound of ripping flesh and broking bone – then a deafening shriek of pain and despair. The man’s hand landed before her, leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Arya stood dumbfounded.  _It can't be..._

The soldier’s cries didn’t last long, though. He didn’t even have the time to really process what happened to him.

 

She was enormous. Like a horse. Arya stood still while her long lost friend approached her, slowly and cautiously.  _Of course. The last time we saw each other I was throwing rocks at her._

“Nymeria... That’s you, isn’t it? Do you recognise me?”

The wolf stopped before her, their eyes on the same level. Through their weakened connection, Arya felt a pang of sadness and betrayal. She knew her eyes were watering.

“I’m sorry Nymeria. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” The first tear ran down on her face. “That was the only way... They would’ve killed you.” She reached out, hesitantly touching the dark grey fur. “Please...”

Then, as if breaking through a dam, their minds connected, she felt Nymeria, and she was sure Nymeria could feel her too. They understood each other once again.

Arya hugged Nymeria’s neck. They stood like that for a few minutes, in silence, until she gathered the courage to speak. Although speaking was probably the last thing she needed to do for Nymeria to learn what she wanted to tell her. “I would never hurt you again... I would never try to tame you or lock you up... So...”

She stepped back. “So... Please, come with me.”

It was not until Nymeria lifted up her head and looked behind her that she noticed they were not alone. They were surrounded by smaller wolves, all of them watching the encounter curiously.  _Ah..._

“Are they your pack?” she felt her voice trembling. “They are your family now?”

Nymeria looked at her, then back at the wolves. Then at her, again, and licked her face, surprising Arya. She felt like crying again.

_“Thank you...”_

 

When she woke the next morning, they were alone again. No other people, no other wolves. Nymeria was curled up next to her, eyes wide open.

“It’s time to go. We have to hurry.”

Someone sent faceless men to Dragonstone. Daenerys was in danger. And...  _‘Let them negotiate, her and that northern bastard’_ , the man said.  _Is she negotiating with Ramsay Snow?_

 

The king

 

When he received the queen’s invitation for dinner, he accepted it immediately. He was irritated, he didn’t want to spend more time here on this island than absolutely necessary. He had yet to convince the queen somehow, and it was a perfect opportunity to bring up the North’s situation and the big war to come.

Yes, he was irritated. Undoubtedly.

Though he had no idea why.

The audition didn’t go as bad as he thought it will. The Dragon Queen was not the sly, evil witch Sansa assumed she would be, nor the power-blinded brat he thought he would meet. No, she was not what they expected, not at all. Although their interaction was brief, he could tell a lot of things about her. Her gestures, the way she spoke, how the light changed in her eyes depending on the topic – these told him a lot.

Despite her young age, she understood the weight of being a ruler, a  _queen_ ; she was thoughtful and cared about her people. She was not naïve, not unnecessarily trustful, yet she respected her advisors and listened to them.

He just couldn’t place this annoyance, this…  _thing_ … he felt anywhere. It was not unexpected for her not to believe him, not really. He knew it would take a long time to convince her, no sane person would believe the story – the truth – just because a total stranger told her to. So why? Why did he react in this way?

He didn’t know.

He just wanted to go home and fight. It was fighting that he was good in, not sitting here and constantly thinking about her.  _Wait, what?_

 

“My King, if I might…”

“What is it, Davos?”

They were following an Unsullied guard, who was leading them to the queen.

“Do you plan to bring up again the North’s condition tonight?”  _Why wouldn’t I?_

“Yes, that’s exactly what I plan to do. We don’t have any time to waste.”

The older man sighed. “I’d advise you against it.”

Jon furrowed his brows. “Why?” Every moment, the Night King’s army would grow larger and larger. Did he not understand?

“I’m aware of the danger,” he said as if he heard what the young king had just thought “But listen to me, son. She has no reason to believe you, not yet. You are a total stranger in her eyes.” Her eyes…  _Stop it._  Of course he knew they were strangers to each other.

“And?”

“Let her know you first. And you should come to know her in exchange.”

“So try to play nice with her.” he sighed.

“No, that’s not what I meant. Try to become friends.”

“ _Friends?_ ”

_Is he serious?_

“Yeah, it certainly wouldn’t hurt. Make her trust you and try to trust her. A friendship between you two… Well, I think it has potential.” he said with a mysterious smile on his face which he simply couldn’t understand.

 

_What?_

“Have a good night, Your Graces.”

At first, he thought he misheard it. “Ah… Aren’t you… staying here?” He tried to conceal the desperation in his voice, although as he saw Davos trying to hide his amused smirk, he knew he failed miserably.

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t want to bother you,” said Tyrion innocently. He looked at the imp, then at Davos again, willing him to intervene, do something,  _anything_. But the former smuggler simply shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t smuggle him out of here. Jon almost felt betrayed.

“Am I that nightmare of a company that you don’t wish to dine with me, my Lord?” the queen questioned, arching an eyebrow.

“N-no. Of course not.” he felt his face burning.  _Shit._  “Your Grace.”

Not counting his sister, and well, Melisandre, he hadn’t really been alone with a woman since Ygritte. He fought down the dull ache in his chest at the thought. And Ygritte couldn’t be compared to a proper westerosi lady, let alone a  _queen._  Speaking with her was an entirely different matter. And even that had been a lifetime ago, since then…

His poor answer hung in the air awkwardly.

Yet when he looked up at her face, he didn’t see dismay or disdain at his strained reply, only curiosity. And he couldn’t help thinking about how beautifully regal she looked before him. He didn’t even notice how the two Hands disappeared.

“Of course not?” she was smiling now. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was being playful. She was every bit of the Dragon Queen she had been in the throne room earlier that day, yet sitting on a chair so close to him with that tiny smile on her face, he felt like she was an entirely different person.  _Seven Hells, get a grip on yourself, Jon Snow._

“Then what was that desperate attempt to keep our friends here?” she smirked.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect this dinner to be such a… private affair.”  _Robb had been so much better at this,_  he thought with a new twinge of pain in his heart. Then a new thought found its way into his mind.  _He should be sitting here. Not me._

His depressed inner monologue was cut short by a beautiful, tinkling sound. He sat in awe, observing how her eyes sparkled, how her white teeth flashed between her lips, how small wrinkles of mirth appeared on the sides of her eyes as she laughed.

“I beg your pardon,” she bit her lower lip to stop laughing “maybe I should’ve asked first if this was alright with you.”

It always irritated him when he was made fun of, but for some reason, the fact that he was laughed at didn’t bother him now. Actually, it was a heartwarming sight, the Silver Queen’s laugh.

“It’s quite alright.” he managed to answer.

Her laugh ceased, but a smile remained on her face. “You seem a bit tense, my Lord.”

 _Does she find my awkwardness so funny?_ He suppressed an amused snort.  _I guess I should’ve listened more to Sansa when she tried to explain how to be courteous with ladies._ “Well, yes. I’m not really used to talking with women.” He flushed a bit.

“But you have a sister, don’t you?” she seemed genuinely curious.

“Aye, I have. Although talking to my sister and talking to a queen might prove to be a little bit different.” he met her in the eye, his eyebrows raised.

Despite her smile, he could catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. “You are really close to her.” it was a statement, not a question. And… Was that yearning in her voice?

He didn’t know what came over him, probably it was just a whim, or maybe the effect of Davos’ words –  _‘make her trust you and try to trust her’ –_ but he caught himself confessing. “I am, now. She’s the last family I have. It hasn’t always been like that, though. When we were children we didn’t really get along.”

He saw the surprise on Daenerys’ face. “You didn’t?”

“No… I think she looked down on me, albeit I have never blamed her for it. And we were children.” The queen was clearly a bit confused, but he didn’t want to explain it to her. “I was closer to my other sister, Arya. Actually, she was the closest to me back then.” However it hurt to think about her, he couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. “I don’t know why, maybe because we both were some kind of outcasts.”  _Why in the Seven Hells am I telling her these things?_  There was something in her violet eyes that caused him to keep talking. He wasn’t sure if he ever talked this much to anyone in his life besides Arya and Sam.

“She was supposed to become a fine lady and later marry some high lord, but she had none of it. She was wild and untameable.”

Something strange passed over her face that he couldn’t place anywhere. Or… Maybe… Was it like recognition? But it vanished as fast as it came, so it might have been his imagination.

She was smiling again, as if encouraging him to continue.  _I really shouldn’t._   _She’s a stranger. And a queen._  He imagined Cersei Lannister – as much as he could remember – before himself, then Selyse Baratheon, their cold and distant, scornful stares.  _You are not supposed to tell these things a queen. Why would she be interested?_  Yet when Daenerys’ lilac eyes looked at him expectantly,  _warmly_ , as though she truly wanted to hear his stories, he couldn’t resist.

He started to talk again.

She was not like them; deep in his heart, he felt it somehow.

 

The queen

 

Daenerys knew he had spent his teenage years serving the Night’s Watch, but still. She didn’t expect him to be  _this_ uncomfortable alone with her. Maybe she should’ve asked him before if it was alright to dine privately.

Although, she would be lying if she said that his awkwardness didn’t amuse her at first. She was used to boastful, cocky men trying to either impress or intimidate her, Jon Snow’s retractile, almost  _shy_  attitude was entirely new to her.

Well, she saw him being confident and kingly, back in her throne room. But then he was talking about the North, stubborn lords and White Walkers, wars and alliances. He was talking out of duty, he stood for his people, not for himself.

Yes, it amused her first, how desperate was he when he learned that they were to eat alone, how he flushed when he said he was not really used to talking with women. But after a while, it wasn’t entertaining anymore.  _He really had no chance to speak with noble ladies._  She wondered if he was still a virgin. It couldn’t be, right?

What about before the Night’s Watch? Surely then…  _No, not even then._

_‘I think she looked down on me, albeit I have never blamed her for it.’_

Probably he didn’t notice it, but he kept speaking like he was not worthy, kept saying all kind of self-depreciating things.

Was it because of his birth? She knew that bastards weren’t treated kindly, but even so… He was a king, chosen by the people, his people. A king was not supposed to speak like that about himself. Not after he came here for them, not after he stood for them, not after he came to warn her about what lies beyond the Wall despite them being two different monarchs, practically enemies… Well, they were not enemies, not really. Or not yet? She shifted uncomfortably. It felt wrong, thinking about him as an enemy.

 _What lies beyond the Wall…_  What lies beyond the Wall? No, that’s still ridiculous. That can't be true.

_‘It won't be so ridiculous when dead men will surround you as far as you can see.’_

What about her, then? _You told as much to Tyrion_ , traitorous little voice inside her head uttered _. Your dragons are magic._ You _are magic. Who said there cannot be more?_

She thought of her old dreams of dead men. Daenys the Dreamer could save her family because she believed in her dreams.  _My dreams mean something._  What if they are real?

The king’s hesitant voice broke her contemplation. “...Your Grace?”

“Hm?”

“Is everything alright? You look a bit pale.” she was surprised of the concern in his voice. Why would he be worried about her? They’ve just met. They did not know each other.

“It’s nothing. You were talking about lady Arya, right?” while they were eating, he told her about his family, a few stories of his childhood.

She thought back to the tales Nym had told her on the ship. It was so strange… She felt like now she was hearing about the very same people. Back then, the girl even mentioned she had a bastard brother… The brother she was the closest with.  _No, that is just… No chance. No._ The word ‘unlikely’ would have been an understatement.

It was a bittersweet feeling. Knowing how happy they were together, and knowing how fate tore them apart. Knowing that she had never had this and she will never have this.  _I am the last._

“She wouldn’t like it if you called her a lady.” the king grinned, and it might have been the first real smile that she saw on his lips.  _He has beautiful lips. And so beautiful eyes._  But it was not long before his joyous countenance disappeared and a sorrowful resignation took its place.

She knew she shouldn’t ask.

Yet she did.

“What… happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” There was so much pain in his answer. She understood. Uncertainty was the worst because as long as he did not know, he would entertain the idea of his sister being alive, and there are few things that could hurt you more than false hope. “The last time I saw her was before I left for the Wall. Before everything went shit.”

He sighed.

“Sometimes I wish I could go back in time.”

“…What would you change?”

“I wouldn’t leave them alone.”  _Regret._

“You wouldn’t join the Night’s Watch.” she didn’t ask, she knew it when she looked at him.  _But if you didn’t go there… We would all die, wouldn’t we?_

His eyes went wide. “Do you believe me, then? About the White Walkers and the Long Night?”  _Did I say it out loud? Probably._

“I…” she looked in his grey eyes, “To be honest, I don’t know what to believe, Lord Snow.”

Her words had a strange effect on him. He winced and shut his eyes, his right hand clenching into a fist on the top of the table.

Face pale, he forced himself to nod. She saw that he was struggling. “Of course. I know it’s quite unrealistic.”

“Do you not feel well?” it was her turn to ask. His knuckles turned white as he didn’t loosen his hand. She didn’t know what came over her, but she reached out and placed a tentative hand on his, touching an old burn scar.

It was cold, unnaturally cold, as though she touched a dead man’s skin. He shuddered and slowly opened his eyes, meeting her violet gaze. Then he pulled back his hand.

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing. Just… It brings back not too pleasant memories when someone calls me Lord Snow.”  _So that’s why he reacted like that. I wonder what…_

“Then how should I address you, Jon Snow?” she asked softly, trying to forget the cold in her fingertips.

“I think…” he hesitated, “I think Jon is enough, Your Grace.” he tried to muster a smile.

“All right.”

She nodded, smiling back at him.

“Jon.”

 

The King's Hand

 

“So? As the King in the North’s hand, what is your opinion, Ser Davos?” asked Tyrion, pouring wine for the older man and himself.

“About what?”

The imp sent him a sceptical glare. “About the weather.”

Davos barked a laugh. Jon hadn’t been wrong when he praised the man’s wits. “I think... If they manage to come to an agreement, they will be strong together.”

“Oh, yes. A powerful alliance, it will be.”

Davos raised his eyebrows, Tyrion mirroring him.

“What are you playing at, my friend?”

“Hm? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

After a moment of silence, they both burst into laughter.

“Did you see how they looked at each other?”

“It was hard to miss,” Davos snickered. “Yeah... There certainly  _is_ potential. In that  _friendship_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think I can tell when the next chapter will be up. I hope it won't take too long :)  
> Kudos, comments, bookmarks and... comments are very much appreciated :D as well as constructive criticism and any ideas that you would like to see in this story ;)
> 
> See you next time xx


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, here's the new chapter. I really hope you like it :) Please leave a comment if you do (or even if you don't, feedback and constructive criticism are always very much appreciated!), there is nothing that inspires me more than reading your thoughts :)
> 
> I case you wondered, this is a Jonerys centered fic, so there will be much more written about them (and from their pov) than the others. I think we still have about two or three chapters of the two of them bonding before anything happens. (Sorry, Arya.)
> 
>  
> 
> And a huge thanks to magnum12 for reading through this before, it helps a lot! :))

 

* * *

 

 

The king

 

He was aware of the queen’s curious eyes on him,  _everyone’_ s eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  _That son of a bitch._

He felt the white-hot rage boiling up inside him.  _Bloody traitor._  He ground his teeth, his hands clenched into fists. He slowly stepped forward… It took all of his self-restraint not to jump on him immediately and beat him to death.

He looked nothing like the arrogant boy he came to know over the years in Winterfell. No, he looked pallid and wretched because of Ramsay’s treatment, yet this fact didn’t do anything to soothe his anger.

“… Jon?” he heard his tentative voice.

Another step. He took off his right glove. But before he would have got close enough, the woman next to Theon raised a hand before his target and called out.

“Wait, Snow.” he stopped and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I know you think this is your business but I’d still like if you didn't go too far. Do you plan to kill him?”

As much as he wanted to, of course he couldn’t. He was the queen’s ally, and he couldn’t risk murdering one of Daenerys’ friends when she was their only chance of survival. Not to mention that – despite all his sins – the asshole saved Sansa from Ramsay’s clasp.

“No.” he answered. The woman eyed him a bit longer, then dropped her hand.

“Right, then.” she patted Theon’s shoulder. “If it needs to be done then do it now. Good luck, brother.” she said while stepping aside.

“Yara?” that was all Ned Stark’s former ward managed to say before Jon’s fist collided with his jaw. Jon was half-sure he broke it, and he would’ve been lying if he said it was not satisfying.

Theon stumbled and fell back to the ground. The Greyjoy men stood there nonchalantly, no one trying to help him.

He was lying there miserably, trembling, with eyes shut, hands coming up before him as if trying to avoid any further assault. A big, red patch started to form on his left cheek, showing where his face met with Jon’s hand.

Yeah, it felt good. But not as good as he thought it would be. He hesitated a bit then let out a barely audible sigh and put his glove back on. The Theon who betrayed Robb had been dead already. He was enraged, he was disgusted, but there was no use of beating up this broken shell of a man.

“Over?” asked Yara with eyebrows raised in amusement and a hint of bitterness. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve placed it as understanding.

“Aye.” his countenance was grim as he looked at Balon’s daughter once again. “Over.”

“Well, this just might be what he needed.” she crouched next to her brother and brought his arm behind her neck to help him up. “We’ll leave you to yourselves now to discuss whatever matters you met here for.” she gave him a half-smile “Let’s share a drink sometime. Snow.” the Greyjoy heir nodded at him, then at the queen “Your Grace.”

 

As the ironborn departed, Daenerys folded her arms before her and shot him a piercing look. “Care to explain what exactly this was?”

He was surprised she hadn’t interrupted or said a word before. It must have been a confusing turn of events, him hitting one of her allies in her presence. “It’s a rather long story, Your Grace.”

“Long or not, I can't let you attack my supporters without as much as an explanation, Jon. Do I need to remind the King in the North which one of you is my ally?”

After their dinner together the day before, she hadn’t called him Lord Snow, not even once. And he was so grateful for it. He knew she was curious, yet she didn’t ask, giving him a little much-needed place. She called him simply by his name, and he quickly realized how much he liked it when that single syllable formed on her lips. A bit too much, in fact.

“No. You don’t need to.”

“So?”

Jon sighed internally. It really wasn’t a tale he wanted to share with her.

Then again, he had to give an explanation, and he had never been much of a liar.  _Besides_ , he almost heard Davos’ voice inside his head,  _how could you make her trust you if you kept these things to yourself?_

 

 

“Is this all true?” he saw anger flashing in her eyes. They were walking along the cliffside, next to each other.

“Aye.” the more time he spent with her, the more he admired the queen. He wondered if there ever had been a monarch as caring as her. When he told her about what Theon did to Winterfell and particularly to those two innocent boys, he thought she could set him aflame just with her burning violet eyes, despite the fact that he knew her rage was not aimed at him. “Though I think it was enough punishment what fate brought upon him.”

At that, the queen stopped abruptly placing a hand on his forearm and looked at him disbelievingly. “So that one punch – and ‘what  _fate_  brought upon him’ – was enough for you? To forget what he did? To forgive him?”

“No.” he sighed. “I’ll never forgive him. But seeing him like this… I don’t think that killing him would do much to soothe the pain.”

There was a short silence, then Daenerys spoke again. “I’m sorry for your loss. It’s horrible… what happened to your family.”

“Yeah, it is. They didn’t deserve to die.”  _They should be here, not me._  “Robb was my best friend, and he was so much better than me. He was a worthy king, I’m sure of it. And Rickon… He was just a child. I didn’t even have the chance to truly know him.”

The queen gave him a side-glance as they slowly made their way towards the stairs.

“I know how painful it is to think about lost brothers.” Of course. It’s not like he was the only one who lost loved ones. “I named two of my dragons after them.” At that moment, as if they were waiting for this opportunity, the three beasts flew over them. She pointed at the cream-colored, “He is Viserion, after Viserys.” then at the green one “and he’s Rhaegal. I never knew Rhaegar but I wanted to honour his memory.”

“I see.” He didn’t want to bring up what the North thought of Rhaegar. He didn’t know how she would react, besides this conversation was sorrowful enough as it was. “And the black?”

“His name is Drogon.” at his quizzical expression, she reluctantly added. “After my dead husband, Khal Drogo.”  _Ah_. He almost forgot she had been married before.

He didn’t ask, because he didn’t feel like it was something she was comfortable sharing with him. Yet, to his surprise, she continued speaking, seemingly lost in thoughts, as if she couldn’t stop the words spilling out from between her lips. “For a long time, we were alone, Viserys and I. We were always hiding and running from one place to another. Robert’s assassins chased us no matter where we went.”

He could imagine the two silver-haired children in Essos, left to be on their own. He shuddered. “Maybe it was the life we lived, or maybe the Targaryen blood, I don’t know, but as the time passed, Viserys started to change. He became cruel and power-hungry, so much that it blinded him completely. Before long there was nothing left of the caring brother who raised and protected me over the years.”

No tears on her face, no tremble in her voice. Just a deep, deep sadness in her eyes.

“He was naïve and awful, yet he considered himself the king Westeros was waiting for. When we lived in Pentos under the roof of Illyrio Mopatis, the man told him that in holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to his health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of his return from across the water. And my brother believed him – he was buying the magister’s every single word. Can you believe that?”

“He was a fool then.”

“Indeed, that he was.” Daenerys seemed to contemplate something. “Just like me yesterday.” she suddenly faced him “I was a fool, assuming that you and the North would recognize me as a queen as soon as I arrive here.”

Now, that caught him unprepared. It felt like a stupid, impossible, unreasoned dream that people would laugh at if they knew about it. Daenerys Targaryen, the Mother of Dragons and whatever titles she possessed, has just stated that she was being a  _fool_ because she demanded to be recognized as a queen. Yeah, he was frustrated because of the audience the day before, but actually, it was  _him_  who acted like an idiot, wanting to convince her about the White Walkers on their very first meeting, then being angry and irritated when he didn’t succeed.

And it was not like he didn’t recognize her as a queen. He did, more and more actually, despite the fact that they met for the first time barely more than twenty-four hours ago. She  _was_  a queen, but not his queen. He couldn’t allow that.

“So, I suppose an apology is in order for that as well.”  _No, it isn’t. Why would it be?_  “I’m sorry if I was too… harsh, my Lord. But you must remember, I will not give up on the North. It is my kingdom, just like the other six. But for now, I’ll accept you as their king, until I can prove myself.”

Jon sighed in relief. It seemed like he won't become a meal for the queen’s dragons anytime soon, and that was – if nothing else – a great start.

“Thank you.” they walked in a comfortable silence, all the disturbing talks about Viserys Targaryen and the Dothraki Khal forgotten.

Well, not forgotten, because Jon couldn’t stop thinking about what she told him. About herself. He was curious and strangely anxious to know more, willed her to reveal more of herself, but he knew it all too well how hard it is to unravel yourself before someone, let alone a stranger, even if that stranger didn’t quite feel like a stranger anymore.

His musings got interrupted as she spoke again.

“You told me why you are here. The Army of the Dead and its king. But you couldn’t possibly have expected me to abandon everything here and turn my face to the North, not when Cersei is waiting for me in the South. My war has already begun, Jon.”  _Except that war doesn't matter._  He swallowed. “I cannot give you my army. So tell me… Do you need something from me that I can give you?”

 _Right now this is the most I can hope for, I guess_. “Aye.”

 

The queen

 

It had been the third day she hadn’t seen Jon Snow. Ever since she allowed him to mine dragonglass one and a half weeks ago, the King in the North was a rare sight in the castle. Every day he woke before sunrise and stopped working after everyone else had already retired.

The few times they met on the corridors of Dragonstone they were barely able to speak, not more than pleasantries – well, not on his part, since he clearly wasn’t a man of those unnecessary falsehoods, so much that after a while she stopped with them too.

Instead, their interactions were reduced to a greeting and a small,  _sincere_  smile given to the other. She just knew, somehow, that both their smiles were honest, and that knowledge caused an odd, fluttering feeling in her stomach every time she looked into his grey eyes.

“Is he in the cave again?”

“Yes, my Queen. He mines the dragonglass with his men and the Dothraki.” answered Missandei, finishing her last braid. “He hasn’t done much else during these past few days.”

“I wonder why.”

“Well, he said that the glass can kill those... things beyond the Wall. So I think he– ”

“That is not what I meant.” she let out a frustrated breath and turned to face her friend “Why is  _he_  doing it? He is a king, isn’t he? That’s why he has his soldiers with him, that’s why I gave him my men. He is not supposed to work.”

“I... don’t know the king, Your Grace... but he seems to be a rather, may I say, restless man. Besides, I heard something strange when I met him and Ser Davos yesterday. Apparently, the ser wanted to discuss something with him, so they took a short break.”

At that, she felt a pang of jealousy but quickly dispelled the feeling. She could’ve gone to the caves if she wanted to, it was not like it was forbidden for her to see him and talk to him. But why would she want to meet Jon? Yes, they had a pleasant evening together, a more or less honest talk the next afternoon, shared a few smiles during the week, but...

“And what would that thing be?”

“They explained to me what a  _bastard_  is. Though I still not quite understand, it seems like the king was treated poorly in his early life. Somehow lesser. Maybe that’s also a reason why he is helping down there.”

A bastard. A child who was judged because of his father’s sins... Just like her. She hated it, the injustice of this world that made them both suffer, as well as many others.  _When I take the Iron Throne and break the wheel, no one will have to bear the weight of other people’s mistakes._

Daenerys remembered Nym’s words. Her mother hated her half-brother, although it was not his fault for no one can choose who his parents would be.

Jon was motherless, like her... Her heart lurched at the thought, intensifying her desire to see the northern king again.  _Wait, do I want to see him?_

“But still, it’s not right for a king to do that.” she uttered. Missandei regarded her suspiciously.

“Your Grace, do you possibly feel...” she leaned closer, her eyebrows going up suggestively “... neglected?”

 _What?_  She snorted in a very unqueenly manner.

“What? What are you thinking, Missandei? Of course not.” her answer came out in a rush. “Of course not.” she repeated.  _Why did I have to repeat that?_

Missandei laughed. “I was joking, Your Grace. Even though... I must state that he  _is_  comely. Pretty much.”

“Missandei!” she exclaimed laughing, her friend joining in.

After they stopped giggling, she tried to recompose herself.

“Alright, it is not the time to discuss how pretty Jon is.”

The handmaiden arched her eyebrows again.

“What?” Daenerys asked, confused.  _What did I say?_

“Nothing, my Queen, it’s just... How pretty Jon is?”

Daenerys’ face reddened.  _Oh, well... That didn’t prove to be a good choice of words._  There was a little difference between the ‘comely King in the North’ and the ‘pretty Jon’.

_And now you are blushing like a little maid, Seven Hells, Daenerys._

“What of it?” she turned to avoid Missandei’s annoyingly knowing gaze.

Then she felt her friend’s hand touching her elbow. “You can always go and see him if you wish, you know.”

 _I know._ She huffed.

“I have more important things to do. And now let us go, I shouldn’t have Lady Olenna waiting.”

 

Yet despite what she said, when she arrived the old woman had already been waiting for her. Since their first encounter, they’d spent pretty much time with each other, for Daenerys really enjoyed her company, their conversations. Olenna’s charisma, strong will, sharp words and never-missing sarcasm impressed her, her rare advice made her feel determined and powerful.

“Good evening, my dear.” the Queen of Thorns greeted her.

“Good evening, Lady Olenna.” she replied, and prayed to all the Gods she didn’t believe in that those brown Tyrell eyes won’t pick up on her most likely pettish-looking countenance—

“So... Love problems?” — well, apparently for naught. She swore inwardly; she did that a lot nowadays, most likely because of her meeting with Nymeria, whom – it seemed – had a great influence on her language usage. It should’ve bothered her, but she found out that it was a pretty good way to relieve stress, so...

“No.”  _Love, of course not. Maybe attraction. No, no, no, not even that, stop it. He is just a stranger lord, who is –in fact – a rebel._  A  _very_  unwelcome voice in her head continued –  _a handsome rebel at that._

“No?”

“Why would you even think that?”

“Don't underestimate an old player like me, Your Grace. I know that look all too well.”

“What look?”

“Like you are ready to march down there and drag up that poor northern brat with you so that you can have your way with him.”

“Wai– what? How does Jon even come here? And have my w–” miserable failure, that was how she could’ve described the denial she tried to utter.

“So, you say that Stark-looking-young-king Jon Snow has absolutely nothing to do with your sour mood, girl?”

“I didn’t say he has nothing to do with it, it’s just you shouldn’t see something into it that is clearly not there.”

The old lady merely laughed. “I see.”

 _Do I look like a dreaming maid that everyone suspects the worst?_  It was annoying. “He is my guest and a  _king_ , yet he keeps himself hidden in those caves, barely coming up for air. That is not normal.”

“As if anything is normal here. Besides, he claims a rather strange thing, doesn’t he?”

“That he does.” she shivered again, like every time someone mentioned the undead. There was something in the very core of her that wanted to scream, terrified. Uneasiness would’ve been an understatement to describe how she felt.  _Can they be real?_  She asked it from herself again and again, seeking an answer but never finding one.

“The Army of the Dead... Tales we heard as children. Do you believe him?”

“I’m still not sure about it. You do not, do you?”

“Oh, I have yet to meet this Jon Snow before I decide. I believe what I have seen with my own eyes.”

 _‘He took_   _a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own l–’_

“That is reasonable.”

“Of course it is. I wouldn’t say if it wasn’t.” Olenna nodded her head at her. “Invite him to a council meeting, Your Grace, so that we can have a proper look at this King in the North while we are still here.”

As their plans get finalized, the armies would depart. Everyone, indeed, should meet Jon before that.

 

“Please inform your king that I wish to speak with him.” she said to a northerner who had just come out from the cave with a pickaxe in hand. The soldier nodded and hurried back.

Before long, the man she wanted to see so desperately appeared. He wore nothing but his boots, breeches and a dirty linen shirt, his hair half-came out of his bun, droplets of sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Your Grace.”

“Jon.”

“...Why are you here?”  _Oh, yes, he would rather die than to say something like ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ or anything of the kind._

“Well, since this is my island, I think I don’t need to explain myself no matter where I go.”

He chuckled. “Oh, right. But you do have a reason, don’t you? I doubt you would’ve sought me out if that was not the case.”  _You have no idea._  She probably would’ve come down here eventually, with or without reason, just to see him.

_The laugh suits him._

“Indeed, I do. I wish to speak with you. Join me?”

“Actually, I would like to show you something in the caves that we’ve just discovered. Could we, perhaps, speak there?” he motioned towards the entrance.

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. No harm would come to her with Jon at her side. Though she was absolutely clueless about why she trusted him this much already.

Jon ordered the men to stop, giving them a break while they went in so that they would have a little peace and privacy.

“I’m sorry for my current... state, Your Grace, I didn’t expect you here.” he said when they stepped inside, him holding a torch in the hand.  _Of course you didn’t expect me, when could I have told you if you didn’t move out of this hole for days?_  she thought, a bit annoyed, although she knew she wasn’t quite being rational.

“Don't worry, I don’t mind.” she really didn’t.  _It’s a nice sight, actually._  No.  _Damn it, stop._

He offered her a weak smile, then continued on his way inside.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I can update a chapter every week, but I'll try. If not, you can expect the next chapter two weeks from now :) Thank you for reading!
> 
> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks are always appreciated :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Everyone :) So, here’s the update :)
> 
> 1.) To give a fair warning: I am no strategist, and I am absolutely bad at this ‘clever stuff’. So please, be prepared that there is no logic in the logic of this chapter (LOL). I know the plan is a big shit, it’s just that I couldn’t come up with anything better :) If you have any suggestions (about anything), you can share it with me in the comment section and we’ll see if I can include it in the story.
> 
> 2.) Unfortunately, I realised that even with using Grammarly I have a lot of mistakes I cannot correct (142 advanced issues, pfff... one day I’ll get the premium version, I swear. Yay.) and a few I don’t really want to correct (sometimes I just don’t feel like putting comma after the ‘of course’, and stuff like that). Sorry :) I think I really need an English beta :)
> 
> 3.) I am not quite satisfied with this chapter, but well... I hope you will still enjoy it. 
> 
> 4.) If anyone is interested, here is a cool, detailed map of the fabulous world GRRM created: https://i.redd.it/ap8fmgf1fzcz.jpg  
> Really, just have a look! It will be easier to understand the 'strategic stuff'.
> 
> Cheers! :))

* * *

 

 

The king

 

Seeing her down there at the caves was the last thing he expected that day. The last thing he hoped for. Because  _hell_ , he did everything to avoid her during the week. Because he feared her presence. Because he feared her touch.

He absent-mindedly put his left hand over the old scar on his right, remembering how her fingers felt there that evening, on the day of their arrival. She was a stranger. But then, why did it feel so right? Her touch, so hot that he thought it would leave a burning mark in its wake?

He had never been warm, not really. Even in his childhood, back in Winterfell, between the walls heated by the hot springs underground, he hadn’t. It wasn’t real warmth, just a faint and cozy tingling, something he felt in his body, but not...  _inside_. 

And when the cold steel of Olly’s blade made its way to his heart, even that superficial feeling fled, a terrible coldness swallowing his whole.  _Good night, Lord Snow._

A coldness that became a part of him. He had wondered if that was how he had to live his life thereafter, however little they had left.  _Lord Snow._

_Lord Snow_ , that was how Daenerys had addressed him. His breath caught, he had felt himself freeze as every time he had heard it.  _Good night, Lord Snow. Good night._

But all of sudden, as if sensing that something was not right with him, her hand had reached out for his, and  _Gods,_  her touch, it had been hot, so, so hot, and his mind went blank at that moment, a warmth he never knew spreading through his veins...

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the unorganised, stray thoughts of that night. The queen stood before him now, in all her grace and mightiness, waiting for his answer.

“Actually, I would like to show you something in the caves that we’ve just discovered. Could we, perhaps, speak there?” Jon said, motioning towards the entrance.

She seemed to consider it for a moment, then nodded.  _She trusts me._  Others take it, she wasn’t making this any easier. How was he supposed to keep his distance? How, when she sought him out, then was willing to accompany him  _alone_  in the caves, despite the fact that they barely knew each other, they hadn’t spoken except that seven-times-damned dinner and their walk on the next day, and those few occasional meetings when they ran into each other after he finished working...

Jon ordered the men to stop, giving them a break while they went in so that they could speak privately, free of prying eyes and unsettling murmur around them.

His face was burning, and he had a feeling that the hard work was not the sole reason behind it.

He felt the urge to say something. He knew that he was probably a mess, and while he had never given much to appearances, it somehow bothered him that she saw him like this.

“I’m sorry for my current... state, Your Grace,” he swallowed “I didn’t expect you here.” He really hadn’t. 

“Don't worry, I don’t mind.” she responded. If possible, this answer flustered him even more. He tried to smile, although it was an  _extremely_  hard task at the moment, and then continued his way inside.

 

“So... You need to speak with me?” Jon questioned hesitantly.

At this point, the walls were pretty far from one another, so they could walk next to each other. The queen threw him a side-glance. “Yes.” she clasped her hands before her, seemingly deep in thoughts. “Soon, we shall start our campaign.”

 _I suppose that’s not unexpected, is it?_  the northerner thought grimly. He did not know what to reply, so he chose to stay quiet. His only chance of convincing them was if Tormund and Eric succeeded. But even if they did, there was no guarantee that they would make it in time. And of course the queen’s forces wouldn’t wait for them. Why would they?  _Shit._

They had to prepare Winterfell’s defences, so they couldn’t spare but a few men. Besides, a huge company would slow them down, which really wouldn’t help their case.  A wildling, a squire, three soldiers from Winterfell, and the crew of one of Stannis’ remaining ships that they’d meet at Eastwatch. They couldn’t afford more. He hoped they’ll be enough.

“Before they depart, I would like you to meet my allies.”  _Why?_  “I think such a meeting would be advantageous for both of us.” the silver-haired woman sent him a pointed look, then she sighed. “I really don’t wish to be your enemy, Jon Snow. Or the North’s.”

And that was why he avoided her in the past days. He couldn’t bear it, looking in those violet eyes which radiated such strength and warmth and determination, which made her face glow, which caused his knees to weaken, his heart to start hammering furiously in his ribcage.

Of which he wasn’t supposed to think.

“Me neither.”

She nodded. “Then would you be so kind to attend my small council meeting tomorrow?”

Jon furrowed his brows. “I don’t think that is a good idea, Your Grace.”

“Why? If we are to be...  _friends_... in the wars to come,” the fact that she said ‘wars’ wasn’t lost on Jon, “then having you on my council meetings would surely be a good start.”

“Aye, that may be true. But we don’t know each other, Your Grace.”

“You want to say that I shouldn’t trust you, King in the North?”

“That’s not... I didn't say that.”

She chuckled. “Everyone tells me that you are a good man, Jon. An honourable one.” she met him in the eye “And I have a feeling that I can trust in you. Yes, you are allowed to call me a fool for it.” She raised her eyebrows.

He knew that she was being playful, yet he couldn’t help the serious answer he uttered.

“I would never call you a fool.”

At that, Daenerys drew a sharp, surprised breath, then averted her eyes. Jon didn't know what to make of the strange reaction but suspected that he just killed the mood, ruining the easiness between them.

They quietly continued walking, neither of them knowing what to say.

 

The queen gasped in awe. “It’s magnificent.”

_Yes, you are._

“The Children of the Forest made these.”

“When?”

“A very long time ago.” Jon responded. “No one knows exactly.”

“They were right here. Standing where we stand. Before there were Targaryens or Starks or Lannisters... Maybe even before there were men.”

“No.” he moved alongside the wall, searching for a certain drawing. He didn't look back but felt Daenerys following him. “They were here together, the Children and the First Men.”

“Doing what? Fighting each other?” he looked at her, the fire of the torch reflecting in her violet eyes. Gods, she was beautiful. At that moment, he felt an irresistible urge to touch her. He wanted to graze his fingers over the soft skin of her cheek, to experience that otherworldly heat once again, to put his hands on her hips and pull her into him...  _What are these thoughts, Jon Snow?_  He knew they were dangerous. He knew he shouldn’t reach out.

Yet he did.

But his right stopped above her forearm, not going further. He held it gently, with a tenderness he didn't realise he had in himself, then carefully pulled her towards the end of the chamber. Then, letting go of her hand, he continued. “They fought together against their common enemy. Despite their differences, despite their suspicions... Together. And we need to do the same if we’re going to survive.”

That was the first time he noticed real fear in her eyes. She reached out tentatively, slightly brushing the rough wall with her fingertips.

“Are they blue? ... All of their eyes?” It was a strange question, yet Jon sensed how serious she was being.

“Yes.”

She kept staring at the wall as if being in a daze. “I think I dreamt of them.”

And that was something he didn't expect. “You did?”

She wasn’t really talking to him. Rather to herself. “When I was still a child, Viserys would sometimes tell me the tale of the Long Night. About the Others and their Army.” she swallowed. “Yes, I dreamt a lot.” she looked at him then, and slightly shook her head. “I dreamt because I was frightened of them. But they were just a tale. They were not supposed to be real.”

 His breath caught in his throat.  _Does she believe me?_

“The enemy is real, Your Grace. It’s always been real.”

“... And you say you can't defeat them without my armies and my dragons.”

“No, I don’t think I can.”

Her brows furrowed, she seemed torn. Like she wanted to believe him, that he didn't want to mislead, to deceive her, but still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around the whole thing. He would’ve lied if he said he didn't understand the sentiment.

Finally, she sighed and turned to him.

“I can't just leave to defend the North, Jon. I cannot fight your war while I have mine here.”

It was like a slap in the face. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. This was just a cave, and she still hadn’t seen them. Dreams or not, drawings or not, she didn't know the real danger. She simply couldn’t understand. How could she? No one would.

“It’s not only my war, Your Grace. It’s yours too. Maybe not now, but after they get past us. And after they do, even if you do not want to be our enemy, you may be forced to fight the North.”  _When we will be nothing more but bodies of rotten flesh and blue eyes._

She visibly winced. “We will see what others think. Tomorrow.” she said, though the lingering doubt in her voice made it quite clear what the others will probably think.

He dreaded to imagine the realisation in her eyes when she will face them, alone, without him to support her. Because dragonglass will give the North a ground to stand on, but nothing more.

Eventually, he will have to go home.

And if he goes home alone, they will never meet again, they will never fight alongside each other.

He averted his eyes in defeat.

 

The wildling

 

He hated the sea.

He fucking hated the sea.

Especially when it was fucking night and you couldn’t see anything that was farther than twenty feet from the ship.

But at least they didn't have to withstand it much longer. The people of that dead fucker who would’ve burned Mance alive had it not been for Jon said that they should reach the damned island in three or four days.

“Who’s wit’ the wight?” Tormund asked one of Snow’s men who had just ascended the stairs leading aboard.

You would’ve needed to be blind not to notice the disdain on the soldier’s face as he looked at him. “The Mormont boy.”

“Good. At least one of you is useful.” He took one of the torches in his hand.  _There’s nothin’ I’d like more than to set the fucker alight._  He didn't know if he was thinking about the monster or the kneeler in front of him, though.

The man opened his mouth to make a retort... but was silenced by the arrow lodging in his throat.

“Shit!”

In the dark, they hadn’t noticed the boat silently gliding towards them. “Extinguish the torches!” someone from the crew shouted, but it was too late. They were too close.

Moments later, the unknown enemy flooded the deck. Arrows flew and weapons were drawn, but the ship from the North with its little crew hardly had a chance. They weren’t expecting this, there weren’t supposed to be foes this close to Dragonstone.

 

Tormund, with a final grunt, shoved the skiff over the railing and heard a big splash, indicating that it reached its destination. Then he turned to see seven cocksuckers charging at him.  _Too many._

He quickly looked around for the last time. Everyone was engaged in the fight, though their struggle was quite hopeless.

And the boy was nowhere to be seen.

_Clever lad. Go._

 

The squire

 

When he woke, the first thing he perceived was the almost unbearable pain in his left leg. Then came the thirst and the hunger. His hands were numb, his lips dry and chapped.

 _Fuck._  He had not intended to sleep, but it seems he passed out. Eric glanced up at the sky and tried to make out the direction in which he should go. It proved to be a quite difficult task, though, since it was barely before dawn, and the stars on the sky were hard to see.

He had to be strong. Dragonstone was not so far away, and he had to get the box with the wight to the king and the Dragon Queen.

As if hearing his thoughts, the creature behind him screeched loudly, making him jump.  _Blasted monster._  He grasped the oars, and with a pained moan, he started rowing.  _Keep going… Keep going…_

Sailing it would have taken three, maybe four days to reach the island. With this skiff…  _Gods help me_.

He put some serious effort into not looking at his bloody, blackened leg. It hurt as hell, and caused him to make headway pretty slowly.

He shut his eyes for a moment and remembered the events of the day before.

_It was about two watches before midnight. He sat on the ironwood box, guarding it. Everything was calm. Nearing their destination, it was hard to imagine that anything could happen to them; no pirates would dare to get close to the Targaryen fleet._

No, they were not pirates.

_Suddenly, he heard shouting. They were attacked. He wanted to run up, but judging by the sounds aboard, there were too many of the enemy’s men. Yes, he wanted to fight alongside the soldiers. He was a son of the North, a Mormont from Bear Island, squire to the king. But now, he had a more important task._

_In the end, it was Tormund’s voice that convinced him that he should stay out of the fight. The wildling yelled at his opponents, trying to make them stop, to persuade them. But they didn’t listen to him. Who would believe that everything would be lost if they didn’t reach Dragonstone?_

No, they were not pirates, because pirates would search for goods and gold and women to rape. These people didn’t.

 _No one came down, and shortly the voices above were gone. It’s over. They didn’t fight anymore… Eric hated himself for hiding here, but he had a duty. And dying or being captured won't help at all._ I hope they were not killed. Please, _he thought. He slowly approached the door and opened it. Nothing. No one. No noises._

 _That was when he smelled something in the air… Smoke._ Shit! They set the ship alight!  _He rushed back to the box and tried to lift it up. It was damn heavy. Ironwood. Not to mention that there was a fucking body in it._

_It took several precious minutes to attach it to his back with the leather straps. He was alone._

_He needed all of his strength to carry it up the stairs. Everything was in flames and a few bodies lay on the deck._ But not everyone. The enemy took them. They are not all dead. _In the distance, he saw a big ship with a Kraken on its sails…_

_He advanced towards the railing, as fast as he could… there was a skiff on the water right next to the ship, someone shoved it down beforehand… But suddenly, he heard a loud, creaking sound, and the mast hurtled down next to him, sparkles engulfing everything. He felt the linen of his breeches catching fire just below his knee…_

_He struggled to get the box down from his back, while he saw his left leg burning. Tears rushed down his face. It hurt so fucking much._

_Finally, he managed to slice through the thick leather of the straps with his dagger and shoved the box over the side. It landed on the little boat below. Then he jumped, his vision blurry, the cold sea waiting to swallow him..._

 

“It. Hurts. So. Fucking. Much.” he hissed slowly, pulling the oars with every word. It was almost two days since he escaped the ship, and he felt the strength leaving his body.  _Keep going, damn it. Keep going._  His leg hurt, his stomach was empty, and he barely got any water, his gourd that was attached to his belt half-empty. To make it better, the wight occasionally started to screech and clatter in the box.

_Will I die out here? With a company like this?_

_No. I can't. I won't. I am a son of the North. They are counting on me._

_Tormund._

_My king._

_Lya._

 

The queen

 

_She was walking alone on the shore. She took off her boots, enjoying how her feet sank into the wet sand, leaving its print with every step. It was beautiful, Dragonstone, the place where she was born._

_She felt a smile creeping on her face as she looked at the horizon, the blood-red clouds sailing on the sky. They were beautiful too._

_Yet as the sun slowly disappeared into the sea, she sensed an unnatural chill crawling up on her spine... Her heart was pounding fast, and it became harder and harder to breathe._

_As the last orange line dispersed in the distance, a desperation she had never experienced found its way into her soul, into her very core. Then she realised what it was... She was afraid that the sun would never rise again. She knew it was foolish to think like that –_ Why wouldn’t it? What could happen? _– but it did nothing to soothe the strange fear._

_A few moments later... She noticed it. The waves stopped attacking the coast, the entire sea calmed down. The water was still, its surface like a lake, like a_ mirror _._

_Something white appeared on the side of it._

_Her feet were freezing. She got closer and crouched down, shivering._ Ice. It was ice.

_“Your Grace.” she heard. She knew that low-pitched, husky voice, that northern accent she came to love so much... She stood up._

_“Is this the winter, Jon?” She remembered the snow-covered throne room she saw in the House of the Undying all those years ago... That had been the only time she saw something of the kind._

_But somehow, that had been different. This felt... colder._

_Her violet eyes met his kind, grey ones. He lifted up his scarred hand and gently brushed her cheek. “No.” he replied, and she leaned into his soft touch. “The real winter is yet to come.”_

_He felt cold too, even colder than she remembered._

_“Real winter? What is real winter, then?” she felt his breath on her face as he stepped closer._

_“Death.” he whispered against her lips before they connected. She couldn’t move. She tasted the metallic flavour of blood on her tongue. His hand stopped caressing her skin and slowly wrapped around her throat. As their kiss broke, she clawed her fingers at his hands uselessly. “_ I’m sorry, Dany.” _he said, dark red blood flowing from his mouth, tears trickling down on his face._

_His grip tightened, and she let out a soundless sob, for everyone she failed, for everyone she couldn’t save, for Jon Snow whom she let down._

_Because it was not Jon, not anymore, it was not even human, she sobbed because she will never get to know him, because he disappeared forever, as will she, she sobbed as she felt her life slipping away, because the last thing she would see is those dead, blue eyes..._

 

She woke with a start. She was panting, and her face was wet with her still streaming tears.

“ _I’m sorry, Dany._ ”

A dread she had never felt before grasped her heart.

 

***

 

“What do you think I should do?” she asked. She felt a headache starting at her temple. Reports of the capital’s state swirled in her mind. The situation was not bright.

“I would never presume to...”

“I didn't ask what you would presume to, my Lord.”

Jon visibly gulped. “I know that we have no time, Your Grace. I think you are aware of that, though my main reasons may differ from yours.” She knew that he was willing her to calm down, and honestly, she tried.  _But the kingdoms suffer under Cersei’s rule._

Before she could reply, the Queen of Thorns interrupted. “Oh? And what those reasons might be, boy?” At that, the  _boy_  let out an exasperated sigh.

“Tell me if I am wrong, but I think you all are informed about them.”

Nymeria Sand snorted. “Yeah. Dead men marching at the Wall.” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Surely we should be afraid.” She was a fighter, just like the other Nymeria she knew, although that was where the similarities ended. Nym was – at least when she forgot about herself – a kind girl with a joyous laughter, she was fierce and strong but not cruel, despite the obvious hatred and bloodthirst she felt towards those who hurt her family. A feeling she could very well associate with.

But the Sand Snake had nothing of that in her. No kindness, no joy, no real sense of justice. Nor had her sisters or mother. Tyrion had told her about what they did to his niece, and it made her skin crawl, made her want to execute them right then. However, they had no proof, and she needed allies.

“Surely you should learn how to shut your mouth when not asked, girl.” lady Olenna retorted. “So.” The old woman turned to Jon again. “You claim those ridiculous stories about the Others are true.”

“Aye.”

His answer was rewarded with a scoff. “Hah, talkative as always. You couldn’t even deny you are a northerner.”

‘ _Aye’_. That accent. Jon had it, Jorah had it. Nym had it too.  _She is from the North,_  Daenerys realised. Grey eyes appeared in her mind, so similar to Jon’s. And she has a bastard brother.

She shook her head.

 

“They are real.” she knew him enough now to recognise the irritation in his voice. “And you are all here, waiting, wanting to start a fight that doesn’t matter.”

“It matters, boy, and it has already started.”

Surprisingly, even Theon uttered a few words. “I... I don’t think... that Jon would lie.”

Yara kicked a chair next to her. “Of course you don’t, brother.” Then putting one hand on the flat of the Painted Table and one on her hip, she leaned slightly towards Jon. “But as much as I like you, Snow, I don’t know you. Without proof, you can't expect any of us to believe you.”

“You have seen the caves.”

“Yes, drawings from more than a thousand years ago. Past.”

“They haven't arrived yet, but my men will bring proof.”

“Oh, will they? And that is why we shouldn’t launch an attack on King’s Landing, wasting our best chance? It’s a shame—”

“Enough.” she exclaimed. The room fell silent, and she turned to the raven-haired king. “You haven't answered my question.”

He took a deep breath, and she tried her best not to remember the disappointed look he wore in the caves when she refused him. “ _I can't just leave to defend the North, Jon. I cannot fight your war while I have mine here.”_  she had said.  _“We will see what others think. Tomorrow.”_  Yet it was evident what her advisors think. She gritted her teeth. How could she abandon everything? Does he not understand?

“I never thought dragons would exist again. No one did.” he started, meeting her in the eye. “The people who follow you know that you made something impossible happen. Maybe that helps them believe that you can make other impossible things happen. Build a world that’s different from the shit one they’ve always known. But if you use them, your dragons, to burn down cities... To bring fire and blood, as you said... You are not different, Your Grace.” he shut his eyes for a moment as if gathering the strength to say what he wanted. “You are just more of the same.”

More of the same. Like Cersei. Like her father.

She wanted nothing more than to fly to the Red Keep, but Jon’s words, like a cool river flowing around her, calmed her down. She let out a shuddering breath. “Any proposal?”

Tyrion, as always, was eager to provide one. “What Cersei is trying to do is to rally the Lords by appealing to their loyalty, their love for their country, to defend the capital against a foreign army. If we directly assault King’s Landing, with Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers, we only prove her point. Our army should be Westerosi.”

“And I suppose we are providing the Westerosi.” Ellaria stated flatly.

Tyrion nodded. “You are. The most logical thing to do is to have the Greyjoy fleet ferry the Dornish army north to lay siege to King's Landing” he moved Sunspear’s figure next to the lion, so that it was trapped between the carved sun and rose, “alongside the Tyrell forces, jamming Cersei and most of her army in the capital and starving them out.”

 “So, your master plan is to use our armies.” Olenna raised her eyebrows. “Forgive me for asking, but why did you bother to bring your own?”

“The Unsullied will have another objective.” he started walking around the table, with the wooden Unsullied mask in hand. “For decades, House Lannister has been the true power in Westeros, and the seat of that power is Casterly Rock. Grey Worm and his men will sail for the Rock and take it.” He knocked down the Lannister figure.

She considered. This could work out. With Casterly Rock occupied, the image of the Lannisters would be destroyed, not to mention the gold mines they would take hold of. “It seems a clever plan.”

“But it won’t work.”

Hearing Jon Snow’s low, calculating voice surprised her. All of them, most likely. While he –understandably – didn't seem enthusiastic about the whole meeting, he took seriously her request to help them plan.

“Why?”

“Because you assume that the enemy will do exactly as you want them to.” He stepped closer to the table. “We almost lost the battle at Winterfell because I thought like this. Everyone learns from their mistakes. I learnt from mine.” He grasped a lion figure and brushed his thumb over it. “It’s foolish to think Jaime Lannister didn't.”

A moment of silence passed before Tyrion queried “What do you mean?”

“He lost to my brother.”

“Robb Stark.”

“You know how, don’t you?”

 Tyrion furrowed his brows. “Decoy.” Then his eyes slightly widened. “You say...”

“What makes you think that either of you siblings cares about what happens to Casterly Rock?”

“But the mines...”

At that moment the door of the council room opened and Varys stepped in with a parchment in his hand.

“The mines?” Jon turned to the bold man before anyone could say anything. “Petyr Baelish may be a worm, but he knows a lot, I have to give him that. Does he know more than you, Spider? How are the golden mines of Casterly Rock?”

Varys looked at him, the astonishment on his face only visible for a moment. Then he shook his head and held up the small scroll. “This came now. It took a while for it to arrive.” He looked at her, then at Tyrion. “It says that the golden mines are empty. Your father successfully hid this fact from the Seven Kingdoms for years, it seems, but it is the truth.”

Her Hand gasped. Olenna leaned back in her seat. Ellaria frowned, Yara cursed silently.

“Casterly Rock is far away and has no significance. Besides, don’t you think that Cersei would anticipate you trying to take it? She knows you want to hit hard and knows where you think it’d hurt.” Jon sighed, clenching his left hand. He did that a lot, she noticed. “If I were Jaime, I would try to use Robb’s tactic on you, using Casterly Rock.”

“You say The Rock would be the decoy.” Daenerys pondered. “Then what would be their target?”

“Winter is coming. There is one place they need.” Shortly, the ligneous lion from his right landed on the table, Olenna’s brown eyes fixed on it. Then the old lady looked up. “Right,” she said.

“But they will not be able to attack the Reach, Jon.” Tyrion insisted. “That would mean a massive force abandoning King’s Landing, which they cannot afford if the Dornish and the Tyrell forces corner them.”

“Except –” Yara stepped forward “– if the Dornish forces don’t make it in time, or don’t arrive at all.” She nodded at her. “Your Grace, we delayed our attack in order to find out where Euron’s fleet is.”

“And our spies haven't returned.” Theon added, his gaze not leaving his feet.

“What if he surprises us on the sea?”

Tyrion hummed. “That would put us at a huge disadvantage.” He pointed at the wooden rose. “But we would still have the Tyrells to protect the Reach. And it’s their home, they know the territory more than anyone.”

“How many Tyrells are alive?” Jon asked bluntly. He really did not care about playing around.

“Me.” Olenna answered. “And a few distant cousins, but they are not important.”

“Do you know who was the person delivering the last blow that killed Robb?” Jon grimaced. “Roose Bolton.”

The Queen of Thorns motioned towards Tyrion, seemingly understanding Jon’s point. “To whom that old fox Tywin offered the seat at the centre of Winterfell’s High Table.” she turned to the King in the North, then. “You think my men will betray me.”

“Not all of them. But surely there’re some who would like to be Warden of the West, not to mention that” he looked at Daenerys apologetically, “probably not everyone is happy with your decision to ally with the queen.”

Olenna nodded at her. “It was a good thing not to roast the boy alive, dear. It seems he has more than a pretty face.” Had this meeting not been so serious, she would’ve smiled at that.  _Indeed_.

“As mad as Cersei may be, she lived her life in Westeros. You, on the other hand, did not. You spent your life in Essos, and, like Tyrion said, now you returned with Dothraki and Unsullied under your command, whom the Seven Kingdoms regard as nothing but savages and eunuchs. And... it’s not only about your forces. I think you know how many people see you.”

Daenerys tried very hard not to show how much the words hurt her. She knew he was right,  _she knew_ , yet it was impossible not to scream inwardly for the unfairness of this world.  _I want to help them, and they despise me._  She thought she was ready for their bias, but... This was still so hard. The daughter of the Mad King. Foreign invader.

“Alright,” she said. “So let us forget Casterly Rock,” Tyrion reluctantly nodded, “let us forget attacking directly, and let us forget a siege. Is that what you want to say, Jon?” she narrowed her eyes.

He glanced at the large, carved map of Westeros.

“No.”

***

 

“How much time do you think it will take for the troops to prepare?” she asked.

Tyrion touched his chin, considering. “Two weeks, I would say. Give or take a few days.”

They sat alone in her solar, with watered wine and a smaller map as their only company. “I see. Then we shall depart soon, I suppose.”

“That we will. Though... I must express my concern about this plan.”

“Oh? How so? He used your ideas as the basis, simply highlighting its weaknesses, trying to fill in the holes.”

“Yes, but my plan didn't involve you risking your life.”

“Neither did his. This is what I came up with and what I want to do because it is logical and the best solution to our problems.”

“It only takes a stray arrow, and we will be left without a queen.”

“Yes, but what kind of a queen am I if I’m not willing to risk my life for my people?”

Tyrion sighed. “Your Grace...”

She gently put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you are worried about my wellbeing, and I am grateful for that.” She smiled at him. “But I can't stay behind. My children are our biggest advantage, and we need their help in order to win. Besides, it’s not like I will be in a bigger danger than in any other occasion.” She stood. “I want everything to be ready as fast as possible.”

Tyrion regarded her with sad, but somehow proud eyes. “As you wish, my Queen.”

 

After her Hand departed, Missandei appeared in the doorway.

“Your Grace?”

“I am here, come in.” seeing her friend, her slight smile widened. “And I told you, you may call me Daenerys when we are in private.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.” The former slave just smiled gently at her, and the queen shook her head in mock exasperation. “Incorrigible.”

Missandei laughed at her playful glare.

“You seem to be in a good mood.”

“It was a long wait. I grew to like Dragonstone, but... I think I am eager to finally get started.”

“I suppose you are.” she poured herself wine. “I met someone who isn’t that happy, though.”

Her stomach dropped.  _Of course he isn’t._

“He should be proud. It’s mostly his strategy that we will use.”  _But that is not what he wants. He wants me to help him, to march north and let Cersei have the Throne for herself. But I cannot do that, can I?_ Suddenly, she remembered her dream. She shut her eyes, shivering.  _No, no, no. Even if they are real, they must wait._

“What will we do?”

“The Unsullied will sail towards Casterly Rock, while the Dothraki go towards the God’s Eye Lake. We want them to believe that we will attack the Rock from two sides. The Iron fleet will ferry the Dornish army back up to King’s Landing so that it can lay siege from one side. I will fly above the sea to protect them and the Unsullied as much as I can from any possible danger Euron Greyjoy may possibly mean.”

Though Missandei smiled, she could see the anxiousness on her handmaiden’s face.  _I know it is dangerous, my friend. But it is necessary._

“The Tyrells will retreat to Highgarden to bring provisions.”

“...Bait?” her friend was quick to catch up.

“Yes. King’s Landing can't withstand a siege without enough food, and with attacking the Reach they could kill two birds with one stone. Make us starve and get food and gold for themselves. But we will be ready. In truth, the Unsullied’s real destination will not be Casterly Rock but a harbour near Old Oak. From there, they will be able to help the Tyrells against the Lannister forces. Also, from the God’s Eye there is a vast plain up to Highgarden. The Dothraki can be fast. And my dragons are, too.”

“But are you certain, Your Grace? What if they do not intend to attack Highgarden?”

“Jon and Lady Olenna are positive that there will be traitors among the Tyrell forces. That will ensure that the Lannisters think they have the advantage.”

Missandei considered, then sighed exasperatedly. “I just hope nothing goes wrong.”

“Do not fret, my friend.” she tried to seem as reassuring as possible, despite the fact that she was just as anxious as the woman in front of her.

***

Later that day, she saw Jon coming up from the caves.

She touched her lips, then the soft skin of her throat, and shuddered. That dream didn't let her rest. She wondered if she is making the biggest mistake of her life by not following him northward.

In the dream, he called her Dany... And he kissed her, and it was so wonderful and so terrible at the same time... Because she got something she yearned for, then in the next moment she lost everything.

Cold skin, blue eyes.

He was close now and looked up at her.

 Cold skin, kind, grey eyes.

She felt like crying again. She didn't want to lose those eyes.

But everything felt so, so uncertain.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter yet, almost twice as long as a 'normal' one :) Don't get used to it, though :D
> 
> Also, a huge thanks to magnum12 for reading through this, it REALLY helps a lot :))
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks are very much appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. I'm so sorry for this long hiatus, and I honestly hope there are people who are still interested in this story.  
> It's not a really good excuse, but I had a disastrous CAE exam after which I couldn't even look at English texts for a few days. It was a traumatic experience, but fortunately, it turned out that I passed so I'm all relaxed and happy now, yay :D
> 
> This is the longest chapter until now, though I'm honest when I say you shouldn't get used to it :) We'll see.
> 
> Nobody read this one except me, so I might edit it in the future.  
> Also, there were minor changes in the previous chapters, but they are pretty unnoticeable.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :))
> 
> Ps. I made a tumblr in the meantime, you can find me as opensky7 :) I usually don't do anything except passively reblogging Jonerys stuff, but you can follow me, if you wish :)

* * *

 

 

The king

 

He stepped out the caves and wiped off the sweat from his brows with his forearm. His limbs were numb, and he knew that had he been working a bit longer he might have even collapsed before he reached the exit. _That would have been the sight._ _Maybe the queen is right_ , he admitted to himself reluctantly. Every one of his men was already in the castle, probably dining or enjoying the comfort of their rooms. He looked up at the few stars already gleaming on the darkening sky. _Maybe I am overworking myself_ _a bit._

Jon sighed and dropped his pickaxe to the ground next to the entrance. _I hope she is not waiting for me._ He walked off, his muscles aching. _It’s late, she must be resting in her chambers already. I shouldn’t bother her._

Yes, he will go up to the castle, eat something alone and sleep through the night.

Well, probably not. That last part was but quite the self-deception. He could never sleep through the night since his resurrection, the dead didn't let him relax.

Without wasting time, he headed straight for the stairs, but as he started ascending, he came to an abrupt halt. He felt it again, the _thing_ he felt so often nowadays. There was a strange presence in this place... No, not the place, it was in him, in his _head,_ in his _soul_... something he just couldn’t grasp, couldn’t understand.

It felt like he was being watched, like a thin mist hovered around his mind, waiting for him to open up, to let it in. And he almost obeyed. Almost. But as strong as the temptation was, he didn't trust it, he was not fool enough for that, however natural it would’ve been. _Natural? Why would it feel natural?_

He looked around but saw nothing, except... It may have been his imagination, but he felt like a large shadow passed over him. _What is this?_

Soon, the sensation disappeared. He was confused, more than he had ever been. He wondered if he was going mad... _Or maybe it’s simply the exhaustion_.

He shrugged like he wanted to shake off the not-too-foreign sombreness of his thoughts, although with little success. He tried not to show it to anyone, but as the days passed, he grew not only weary but more and more desperate as well. Sometimes he wondered if it would be more beneficial to simply walk to the edge of a cliff and end it all...

He still didn't understand why he was brought back. He cheated death and he didn't know if it was worth it. _Winterfell. Sansa. Remember._

He didn't pay attention to the low whisper of a third name in his mind, nor to the warmness it brought.

 

A few minutes later he entered the castle, hoping that he would get to go unnoticed so that he could see his bed as soon as possible. But of course, things rarely go according to plan.

 “My Lord,” a familiar voice caused him to stop in his tracks. He turned, with something he hoped was a friendly smile on his face.

“Lady Missandei.” He found the queen’s most trusted advisor – and friend – a rather likeable person. He wondered how she ended up in Daenerys’ service. Maybe he will ask them one day.

“Her Grace wonders if you would mind dining with her tonight.” _You mean... No. Shit._

“Her Grace... Was she waiting for me?” He wanted so badly for the woman to shake her head and reassure him that it was not the case, but the dark-skinned former slave only smiled and shrugged.

“Oh. I am sorry, I didn't intend to make her wait.” he cringed. They were sharing their meals for days now (well, mostly the breakfast and supper – he didn't leave the caves for lunch; when he ate, he ate there), so he should’ve expected that she would want him to accompany her again. “And, um... I don’t think I’m presentable right now.” Jon could imagine what a poor sight he must have been, covered in dust, grime and sweat.

But his mind had really been playing weird tricks on him that evening. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that the humble, faithful servant of Queen Daenerys _smirked_ at him, like she knew something that no one else did, in an almost devilish way.

“I don’t think such things would bother her, my Lord. So, if you would follow me...”

And he did.

 

It was frightening, actually, how much he looked forward to it. How much he liked the evenings they’d spent together, he and the queen. Yes, there were times before when he was happy, but really enjoying his life was not something he was accustomed to. Yet all it took was a few minutes spent with this silver-haired woman, and he caught himself doing exactly that.

He liked how witty she could be, occasionally sarcastic, yet so gentle sometimes. And her smile was so delightful. He was not an expert when it came to women, but even he could tell how affectionate and beautiful this Dragon Queen could be when not sitting on a throne. Well, she was always beautiful, though her regal side held another kind of beauty.

And she would depart soon.

This was the fourth... No, fifth day since the council meeting. He remembered her gaze on him in those moments, how she accepted his plan... How his stomach flipped when she decided that she would fly with the ships to protect them, then as soon as they got news of the Lannister armies marching on Highgarden she would head there, too... Putting her life at risk.

He cursed inwardly. It only takes one arrow, only one that finds its way to her, and she... He shuddered, not wanting to think about that. He just couldn’t bear the thought.

 

His staying on Dragonstone neared the four weeks. It was not that much time, yet he realised that despite his initial bitterness, he got used to the place. Somewhere deep inside him, he knew that he might even love being here.

He might love being in the company of someone.

He might miss her when she leaves.

 

***

 

“You are unbelievable, you know.” those were her first words to him after he stepped in the private dining chamber.

“Am I supposed to say thank you?”

“It was not a compliment.”

“Oh. Thought so. But you can always hope, can't you?” She tried to remain stern, but he could see how she fought with a smile, the sides of her mouth quirking upward.

“Certainly,” she sighed exasperatedly, then continued with a more serious tone. “Do you enjoy hurting yourself, Jon?”

“I am not—”

“Yes, you are. You really think it can't be seen? Sit down at least now, I can't have you collapse here.” He complied, cheeks slightly reddening in embarrassment. The queen read him like an open book, always seeing right through his poor attempts of lying or denying something that was true. “Pushing your body over its limits day after day will only break you. A king cannot help his people if he is broken.”

He tried to remember the people who would really worry about his wellbeing. Maybe Sam. And his sister. The end. He smiled weakly.

“I am alright, Your Grace. I am sorry for making you wait, though.”

At that, she rolled her eyes in a pretty unqueenly fashion, causing him to chuckle. “Yes, it was immensely rude of you, but that is not the point now.”

“Isn't it?” he sighed. “You shouldn’t have stayed up for me,” he said.

“I’m not sleeping much anyway. And let us say, I enjoy your company.” she answered, voice softer, her kind eyes sparkling in the firelight.

“And now can I say thank you?”

She shrugged. “If you wish.”

“Then thank you.”

 

They ate quietly for a while, the only noises in the room being the sounds of the cutlery.

He observed her, like he did every time they were together – it was impossible not to, after all, because she was a person to always look at –, she took only small bites of her meal, occasionally sipping from her wine, her eyes rarely leaving the plate. It was like this since the first time they dined together, but still...

“You are not eating much.”

“I never eat very much,” she smiled.

“As I came to realise. But these past few days you ate even less.”

She seemed taken aback. “Oh.” Yeah, well, he wasn’t supposed to notice such things, he guessed.

“Anxious?”

“Perhaps. Or maybe it’s the cold.”

“Cold?” he asked in mock confusion and looked around. “Where?”

She scoffed. “Very funny, Jon. I can imagine how dreary the North must be if you are joking about this weather–” she started, but abruptly stopped speaking, causing Jon to look up, concerned. Her brows furrowed, Daenerys stared at him in disbelief. “Wait. You can actually make jokes?” she deadpanned.

 _Gods,_ he groaned, burying his face in his hands. _And here I thought something was wrong._

She laughed then, and oh, how he liked the sound.

“Very funny, Your Grace.” Jon mimicked her earlier comment, trying to seem exasperated, although he suspected his quirking lips pretty much betrayed him. “Anyway, I meant that not eating properly doesn’t do you much good.”

She tittered. “Hypocrite.” _Right, I’m not really taking care of myself either._

“I am serious. You should try to—”

“To what? To... eat more?” she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow sceptically. Suddenly it seemed a very good idea to march out of the room and bury his face along with this fucking awkwardness in a pillow. “Easier said than done, Jon Snow.” _I can't believe we are talking about this. Who am I to...? Gods. Holy shit._

She sighed but suddenly looked up. “I can try it if you insist.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Although, I have a condition.”

“A condition?” he raised his head, suspicious.

“Yes.”

 

***

 

He would never have thought there was such a place between the walls of Dragonstone. It was similar to a large, spacious room, but it had no floor, nor ceiling; he could almost feel the still green grass beneath his boots, and as he looked up, he was awed by the sight of the open sky above them.

“Beautiful place,” he said.

“Yes, it is. And isolated, so we won’t be disturbed.” As she said it, there was a strange twitch in his abdomen. _We won’t be disturbed_. 

He inwardly slapped himself, they were not here for anything like _that_.

No, she wanted him to teach her.

 “That's good. Learning goes better if you are focused. Though... I doubt I am the best for this task.” added Jon and stole a glance at her once again. Abandoning her usual, queenly dresses, now she chose to wear a simple linen tunic, breeches and leather boots. He wouldn’t have guessed that such clothes could be found between her robes. Then again, everything about her was quite unconventional.

“And why wouldn’t you be?” Daenerys’ words interrupted his stray thoughts. “Tales of how one miracle of a swordsman you are has been spreading through the kingdoms since you became a king, or at least that’s what Varys’ little birds sing. Is that not true?”

“I cannot be a judge in this. Moreover, I haven't been king but for a short time.”

“Oh? You cannot be a judge, yet you try to decline this because you think you are not good enough?” she cocked her head to the side. “Let _me_ be that judge, will you?”

He shook his head, though his words were somewhat accepting. “If you insist.”

 “I do.” She snickered. In these moments, when they were alone, she seemed to be someone entirely else; not the stoic Dragon Queen everyone else knew, not the ruler, not the fearsome conqueror, just a woman. And he realised that as much as he admired the queen, this was the side of her that captivated him the most. This sight that – he guessed – few people could witness. “Besides, didn't you say that you have experience in training beginners? You taught the children at Winterfell, as well as the recruits in Castle Black. When you were at the Night’s Watch.”

 _Dangerous waters._ Something strange flashed in her eyes, a mix of apprehension and curiosity, and he knew that finally, now she will bring it up. The question that lingered in the air every time he told her about his time in the Watch. _Why did you break your oath, Jon?_

“Jon... I was wondering... When you first came here, Ser Davos said you took a knife to the heart for your people.”

Not entirely what he expected. It was like she wasn’t even bothered by the broken vows, but the fact that he possibly... _Well, I did die._ But it was something he wouldn’t reveal to her because he feared that it would destroy this comfortable easiness between them, a feeling he treasured, since it was a thing he rarely had in his life with most of his friends dead—

“Ser Davos gets carried away.”

“So it was a figure of speech?”

—Yet at that moment, he almost told her. He wanted to, _so badly_. They already knew so much about each other, their journey, their hardships. Most evenings they would sit in the dining chamber and talk, and every time his chest felt lighter and lighter.

Sharing his deepest secret with her... It was tempting. But it would leave him entirely bare, unravelled, weak. He would have to show her the visible and invisible scars of his, the evidence of his brothers’ betrayal.

It was easier to hide.

Besides, she had enough problems to deal with, she didn't need more of his unbelievable stories.

“I thought we came here so that I can teach you how to fight, Your Grace,” he said with what he hoped was a light smile. “No to talk about Ser Davos and his blabbing.”

The disappointment on her face only lasted for a second. She hid it well.

“Very well, Jon. Then let me see what the King in the North knows.”

“Alright. First, we will pay attention to your stance and footwork.” He moved one of his legs forward and raised his fists. “Attack me.”

“What?”

“Attack me. I’ll show you.”

She was clearly confused but complied. She stepped closer and tentatively tried to hit him. But Jon acted faster; a light shove on her collarbone was enough to break her balance.

He didn’t let her fall, a hand on her waist kept her standing.

“Oww. I thought you will be on the defensive.”

“I was.” he shrugged. “The best defence is offence, Your Grace.”

“First lesson?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.” he chuckled, putting serious effort into controlling the blush that threatened to spread on his face as he dropped his hand. “When you fight, you always have to be flexible. Do never stick to a pattern. It’s not decided that you are attacking now, and your opponent is ‘on the defensive’, as you’ve put it.”

She looked at him up and down, observing. “And for that, I need to work on my stance, I reckon?”

_Fast conclusion._

“Exactly.” He moved to step behind her. “Now spread your legs.” Jon honestly hoped that the faint redness of her cheeks was because of the chilly morning air, and not because of what he’s just said. _Spread your legs. Gods._

He stood close behind her and used his foot to push her right ankle a bit farther. “Always try to keep this position. In this way, it won’t be easy for them to make you lose your footing.” He touched his knees to the backside of hers and pushed slightly, urging her to move her centre of gravity more downwards.

“Bending the knee, are we?”

He laughed out loud, Daenerys joining in.

“This doesn’t count. You are doing it too.”

It took a while for him to realise that now her back was entirely pressed against his front. He wondered if she could feel how furiously his heart beat.

Jon stepped back awkwardly. “That’s it, more or less. You just have to get used to it. Now, let’s get to the footwork.”

She nodded.

 

***

 

The King in the North hurried down the stairs. He needed a place to clear his head.

_What. The. Actual. Fuck. Has. Gotten. In. Me?!_

That ‘training’ with her was just too much.

His entire face was burning, not knowing what to make of his reactions to that woman. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was not like he hadn’t met pretty girls before, so what? What was this? He fucking _wanted_ the Queen of Westeros, the last Targaryen, the Breaker of Chains and whatever fancy titles she had.

Like a horny green boy.

After Ygritte... He thought he was finished with this.

He should have been finished with this.

Yet it felt like his body caught fire, and nothing could put it out. The sensation was not like anything he had experienced in his life, his head spun, fire ran through his veins.

_Cool down, damn it. Get a grip on yourself._

What would anyone think of him? He scoffed. The northern lords, Sansa, Davos. Their chosen king, the honourable Ned Stark’s son, helplessly yearning for a woman’s touch. A true bastard.

He had to do something with this feeling.

This _lust_ , because he was not ready to call it in any other way.

 

***

 

“You look like someone made you swallow a handful of that dragonglass you adore so much, Snow.”

Now, that was a company he wasn’t expecting.

“Lady Olenna.” he bowed uncomfortably, not really knowing how to greet the old woman.

After he fled from Daenerys’ company at the first opportunity, he found himself on one of the castle’s many balconies. It seemed like Olenna found him too, immediately crushing his hopes of solitude.

“’ _Lady Olenna’,_ ” the oldest Tyrell mocked him. “Could you be more awkward, boy?”

“I can try,” he grumbled, earning a throaty chuckle.

“I have to say I am impressed with your plan, Jon Snow.”

“There’s no guarantee that it’ll work out.”

“Guarantee? Such a thing doesn’t exist. My granddaughter, Margaery... She was beautiful, kind and clever, cunning even. Yet these things didn't guarantee her safety, they did not keep her alive. Nothing ever is sure. No lives, no plans, no thrones.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Me too, boy, don’t worry. That is why I came here.”

Jon threw a side glance at her. He remembered the moment when he first heard the news about Robb’s death. _‘Jon... I am sorry,’_ Sam told him. He hated everyone at that moment, his friend, the Watch, The Freys, who could cold-bloodedly butcher his brother and his men on a damn wedding, and above anything else: _himself_. “A desire for revenge. I understand that.”

“Sure you do. Among other _desires_ , right?” _Gods, not now._ “Tell me, Snow, what do you think of her?”

 _Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse._ “Who—”

“—Hah, don't even try it. Old women don’t have the patience for your stupid northern prudity.” _Old women are even harder to handle than the young. Gods._

“... She is just and kind but fierce. I think she has a good heart.”

“Oh, that she has. A good yet fierce heart. It is really admirable for a northerner, right? That’s why you are looking at it so intently. At her heart.”

Jon flushed at the implication, suddenly remembering how her back pressed against his front for a few seconds during their lesson.

“It’s not that I blame you, boy. Had I been thirty years younger and have something else between my legs, probably even I would be drooling over her.”

“I am not drooling over the queen.”

“You try not to, but you do want to do a few things with her, don’t you?”

Jon sighed, quite annoyed and sad at the same time.“There’s no time for that.”

Lady Olenna regarded him for a minute. “You are young and naive, Jon Snow.” she pointed a finger at him. “ _I_ have nothing to lose in this war anymore. You act like you don’t have either. Like you have no right to grab any chance the life throws at you.” She reached up and patted his shoulders. “I did not take you as an idiot,” she said before turning to walk away.

_Chance. Does anyone have a chance?_

_Do I?_

***

Jon shifted uncomfortably as Daenerys grinned at him.

“Are you afraid, Jon?”

“Of course I am.”

She huffed a laugh. “Good.”

“I’m not sure why I must do this, you know. I thought you had only one _condition_ ,” he muttered reluctantly, remembering their time spent together in the morning. Considering that it was her first time ever using a sword, she proved to be surprisingly good. She was quite enthusiastic, a quick learner. Better than most of the lads in Castle Black, to be honest.

She smiled and took his gloved hand in hers. “Don't worry,” that was all she said and led him a bit farther from the castle. Despite what he said, he was not afraid, not really. Somehow he knew that they wouldn’t hurt him, and Daenerys’ comforting touch lulled that little anxiety that still rested within his heart.

When they stopped, she looked at him. “I want to see it,” she whispered. “Ever since Tyrion told me how they reacted to you... They are my children, Jon, and since they were big enough to fly they’d never let anyone close except me. Well, once they let Tyrion, as I heard, because they needed help. But no one since then.”

“So now I’m the lucky dinner candidate.” he whispered back with a serious tone, which earned him a poke in the ribs. He chuckled. “Where are they? Did you call them?”

“Yes, I did.” she had once told him that she didn't really need words to make them understand her will, though speaking made it easier, especially during a fight. “They were hunting, but they will be here soon.”

As if to prove her point, three barely visible black points appeared on the sky, signalling the three beasts’ approach.

 _They are fast_ , he thought as the points grew bigger and bigger. _I bet it wouldn’t take longer than a day or two to fly through the whole Westeros._

He felt the ground shaking beneath him as the dragons landed. “Stay here,” the queen instructed as she stepped towards them. He watched as she greeted her children with extended hands, tracing her fingers over their scales, then putting her palms on their snouts. He almost laughed out loud seeing how they wrestled with each other like some oversized cats for their mother’s attention.

When they seemed to calm down, Daenerys turned, smiling, and motioned for him to approach.

He stepped closer. The three beasts regarded him intently, their eyes bored into him, but they did nothing that could be considered aggressive or assailant. They just... Stood, as if waiting for something.

“It seems like they really take kindly to you.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she looked at him. “Do you want to touch them?”

He tried to respond but no sound came out of his mouth. It felt like all the air left his lungs, like an invisible power pressed against his chest. So he simply nodded, pulling down his left glove and slowly raising his hand.

Yes, he might have been out of his bloody mind, but he felt an almost irresistible desire to touch them, to actually _feel_ them under his fingers.

And he did, carefully, mesmerised by the sight as his palm connected with the dragon’s scales.

***

After they went back to the castle, he quickly excused himself. He would’ve liked to stay with her a little longer, to see that sweet, blissful expression on her face. But he just couldn’t.

He sat on his bed, shaking.

No, they didn't frighten him. Not in the least.

But there was something that _did_ frighten him. If he concentrated, he could still feel that numbness he experienced when he rested his palm on Rhaegal’s scales. That _presence_ , again. It was like that particular mist flowed through his whole being. And it had been much stronger than the day before.

_What is this?_

Both the dragons and their mother, they were just so damn good at leaving him a confused mess. _Well, fuck._

 

The she-wolf

 

“What do you mean by that there is no ship that goes to Dragonstone?”

“Exactly what you’ve heard, lil’ girl. Now bugger off, I’ve better things t’do than to listen to yer twittering.”

The temptation to stab the turning sailor in the back was incredibly strong at the moment. _I could show you how to take me seriously, motherfucker._ She let out an exasperated breath and went back to the town. She didn't think it would be this hard to find a boat which would get her to the Island. It was so much easier to leave, all she had to do was to sneak up to fishing smack and reach land as a stowaway.

Only it didn't occur to her until now that the very point of the fishermen’s departure almost two months ago was the fright Daenerys caused with her arrival. Probably no captain would dare to steer his ship towards the ancient seat of House Targaryen now.

In her frustration she thought about stealing a skiff – she could easily forget about the heavy leather purse in her pocket full with gold – to row there alone, but fortunately she was not stupid enough to actually try it. However skilled fighter she proved to be, when it came to physical  strength, hers was nowhere near enough. Not to mention the still healing wound on her upper arm that the third Frey soldier caused.

No, she would have to find someone, and fast.

 

“Who are you looking for, my dear?” she heard a throaty voice behind her.

She turned, taking in the suspicious street vendor who smirked at her. “No one.” she answered briefly.

“Oh? I believe you do.” Arya knew that look. She glanced around, then placed a Golden Dragon before the man. Mottled fingers reached out and took the coin.

“Sailors in this town are usually generous, yet you couldn’t find anyone who would help you reach your destination. Which makes me believe that the place you seek is either too far from here or too dangerous to approach. But if it was that far, you would have gone to another port.” The vendor’s grin widened. “You will not find a single sailor who would take you to Dragonstone.”

“Then who am I looking for?” she asked, pulling out another Dragon from her pocket.

The vendor chuckled. “I think I can tell you. You are not the only one who wanted to go there.”

“What do you mean?”

The man held out his palm and Arya dropped the gold in it. “My friend transported about fifteen soldiers to the island about a day ago.” _A smuggler. Of course._ “And it was not the first time.”

“How many men did your friend take there exactly?” She remembered the three people she killed on the side of the road. _Were they really Walder Frey’s or did they serve someone else in disguise? That old shithead wouldn’t be clever enough to send his people in waves. Besides, why would he just decide to make an attempt at the Dragon Queen’s life? Either he was manipulated or there is someone entirely else behind this._ Those soldiers were probably regrouping on Dragonstone. _What are they planning?_

Then she remembered what she overheard before meeting with Nymeria. _A northern bastard._ What kind of northern bastard would try to negotiate with Daenerys? Is Ramsay Snow there? Roose Bolton’s son, one of the bannermen who betrayed Robb. They had Winterfell now. Maybe they are plotting something. _Son of a bitch. I hope I meet him._ _One more name on my list to be crossed._

“Oh, I couldn’t tell, little lady. Maybe a hundred, maybe more. But if you want to go there, then you should hurry. My friend just got home, but he is not one to sit in one place for long.”

Arya nodded. The man turned down his voice she leaned closer to hear the vendor’s whispered words.

 

“I received a pretty favourable offer not long ago. But it won't take longer than a seven or eight days, I can help you after that.” They were on the side of a small forest, she and the smuggler, near the hidden bay where his ship docked. The setting sun painted the sky orange.

“I don’t have time. Dragonstone is close, if we leave now you will me back in a day.” She held up the leather purse. “I think this would be worth a day’s delay.”

The man looked at her sceptically. “Really? My client’s business is very urgent, you know. A few more Gold Dragons won't convince me to deny his request.”

“Don't fret, I don’t want you to deny it. I’m sure you are good enough of a smuggler to make up for the lost time. My business is urgent too.” she smiled sweetly and placed her free hand on Needle’s pommel. “Believe it or not, my friend, you do not want to refuse me.”

Crann – that was his name – scoffed. “You threatening me, brat?”

“Me? No. Of course not. But she,” Arya raised her hand and pointed towards the trees without turning. Nymeria silently stepped out of the shadows. “probably.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Crann managed to tear his gaze away from the wolf. He looked at her and laughed disbelievingly. “Well, little girl,” he shrugged, “you are right. I do not want to refuse you. But that beauty in your hand is still mine, isn’t it?”

Arya smirked and threw the leather towards him. The coins clinked as the purse landed in his hands. “For me and my friend here.”

“You sure that wolf of yours will behave on the ship?”

“No worries. She won't cause problems as long as you don’t try anything stupid.”

“My face may not be the prettiest, girl, but I still like my head on its place. So you want to leave now?”

“Yes.” They got going, the smuggler showing the way. “I heard you transported soldiers yesterday.”

“I did. Not sure what those fuckers want to do there, though. Not sure what _you_ want to do there.” he threw a side-glance at her. “With the Dragon Queen being on the island and all.”

“I have work there to do.”

“That much I figured.”

“No need for you to know more.”

Crann hummed. “If I were you, I would be careful around those soldiers. You seem like you are interested in them. Dangerous people.”

“You can tell?”

“Yeah.”

“How many of them did you transport in the past two weeks?”

“Many. They made me really busy.”

 _Many._ Worry seeped into her heart. _Daenerys._

“When will we arrive?”

“One or two hours before midday.”

Arya nodded.

“Be as fast as you can.”

 

The King’s Hand

 

He felt like something started to change in Jon. It seemed to be slow and almost unnoticeable – but he couldn’t deny that it was there. It was like... Like... Actually he couldn’t even grab it, how this _change_ exactly felt, but he saw a sparkle in his King’s eyes that was certainly missing before...

“Stop it, Davos.”

... Despite the fact that the evening found him in a quite bad mood.

He let out an amused snort. “I’m not doing anything, Your Grace.”

“Of course you aren't,” the lad tilted his head sceptically. “Except throwing those weird side-glances at me. What’s the– hey, stop it!” But he couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling out of him.

“I’m sorry. It’s just the expression on your face.” It took everything in him to suppress the again-threatening chuckle at his annoyed exhalation.

“I don’t have the patience for your remarks now.”

“Oh? But you started it.”

If looks would be sharp enough to actually hurt someone, he was sure he would be impaled by now. But they weren’t, luckily for him.

“Alright, I’ll stop.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah.” The young man was clearly on the edge, and he was bloody curious what made him act this way. He had a guess, though.

They stayed in quiet for a while, neither of them doing anything but occasionally taking a sip from the wineskin Davos brought to the king’s chamber. He wondered whether every one of his comments now would meet Jon’s snappish reply. Maybe it would’ve been better if he left when he first noticed the sour mood of the usually calm and collected northerner.

He contemplated dropping the idea that led him to this room, but at last he decided against it. _Well, there is no harm in trying. Should it not work, I’ll simply take my leave and let the kid sort out his issues._

“You should move out from here a bit, You Grace.”

“I spent the whole day out.”

“Yes, but it’s such a waste to sit next to your desk, drinking alone,” he insisted. “We have the evening free, ya know.” _Or is that the very thing that bothers you?_ “Loosen up! Gods know you need it.” Of course, Jon knew exactly that he was right, but the clench of his jaw indicated that he will need a bit more convincing.

He sighed. “I’m sure the queen had no ill will when she made you spend less time in the caves. She offered her people, remember?”

Jon jumped slightly. _The problem is either his restlessness, or..._ “How is the queen even coming here?”

“Observing your reaction I wasn’t wrong to bring her up. It seems to me that she has something to do with your recent broodiness.”

The king let out a quick breath and raised his eyebrows before answering.

“Aye, actually you’re right.” He motioned towards his window that looked at the shore. “I should be down there. She needn’t have–”

“For fuck’s sake, boy,” the former smuggler interrupted, scoffing “you know I like you but your damn stubbornness kills me sometimes. Your help is not needed right now, you, like me, worked _enough_ for today, and I’m fuckin’ glad someone helped you move your ass up.”

The lad seemed to be irritated with the queen’s actions, even though they were making much more progress since she started to take the dragonglass-issue more seriously.

Davos placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Organizing the workload was the best help she could offer. So many of her people are helping us that we can work in shifts. I just don’t see why you are upset about it. Besides, it means that you are able to spend more time with her, which works to our advantage, doesn’t it?”

No answer came.

They needed her friendship, not to mention that the closer they became the easier Jon could convince her of the real threat, and that was even more important than the dragonglass weapons. Jon knew this, so why...

 _Indeed, why would it bother him_ this much _?_

Davos inspected him closely, only now noticing the not-so-faint redness of his face. They did not drink nearly enough of this light summerwine for it to have this effect.

 _Oh. So that’s what won't let ya rest._ Things were moving faster than he predicted. He noticed him staring at her a few times, but he didn't think that thinking about Daenerys could already make the stoic King in the North _blush_.

“Anyway, we still have three or four hours till midnight. I thought we could join the Greyjoys and the Dornish in Tyrion’s solar.”

“I’d rather stay here. But you can go.” answered Jon, more or less calmed down.

“Your choice. But good wine in a good company” Davos stood up and patted the back of this fool of a young man, “is the best medicine for whatever wears down the soul.”

***

“Here you are! I started to think that you wouldn’t come.” Tyrion greeted them, raising his cup.

Davos stepped in, followed by a visibly reluctant Jon. “Told ya we’ll be here.”

The dwarf laughed, already drunk. _And he is probably not alone,_ he mused, looking over the clamorous Sand Snakes and ironborn captains. Then he noticed a flash of silver hair in the circle of a few Dothraki bloodriders and he twitched his head back to Tyrion with a question in his eyes.

But the Lannister only smirked, as if he said ‘ _I thought it would be fun._ ’

Right. _We’ll see._

“Snow!” Yara yelled across the room. “Thought I’d never see your pretty face here!” It didn't take but a few moments for the King in the North to be pulled down to a chair next to the Greyjoy heir with her left arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Let me see how big of a friend is that northern throat of yours with this fine ale!”

Jon shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking towards the group of Dothraki, no doubt having noticed Daenerys upon their arrival.

 _Maybe this wasn’t a really good idea after all,_ he thought, wincing when he caught the queen looking at Jon, just in time for her to see as Yara draped a leg across his lap.

_Seven Hells._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks, as well as constructive criticism are very much appreciated! Tell me what you thought of the chapter :)
> 
> And if any of the native English speakers have a little free time, well, I'd appreciate the help :) I can live without it, but I would like to make this story as enjoyable as possible :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not what I intended for this chapter, but they got too long, both the chapter and the waiting. Uh. Sorry. The next chapter will be more epic, and I promise that we'll see Arya too. I hope you enjoy it, though :))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, it seems like I just cannot provide faster updates. I think my muse got hit by a car and died, and no one even notified me. Can you imagine that?
> 
> The good news is that I started a oneshot and began the outlining of two multichapter stories. We will see if I'll write them :) (but I won't post anything until I finished them, or at least I have a 75% written, lol)
> 
> Un-betaed.

* * *

 

 

The Queen’s Hand

 

Oh, how good it felt, being so thoroughly drunk again... Somehow life seemed much simpler after a few cups of Dornish Red, something he desperately needed that night. The past week had been nothing but a nightmare, and it was quite the challenge for Tyrion not to visit one of those beautiful cliffsides and throw himself into the sea.

“I have to admit, you have interesting ways to rest, Tyrion.”

He smiled up at his queen, the quirk of his lips matching her weak smirk. “Not anything you haven’t known.”

She chuckled. “Is it worth it, though? The headache and all.”

“Ah, yes, the next day tends to be fairly uncomfortable. But if it means that for a few hours I can escape all _this..._ ” He raised his cup, motioning around with a bit exaggerated, content intake of breath, “... then I think ‘the headache and all’ is not that big a price.”

He thought his comment was supposed to keep the conversation light, yet when he glanced at the young queen’s face, he only saw her already worn down expression darken.

“Indeed. That may be worth it.”

“...Is there something that bothers you, Your Grace?”

“Being a queen is not quite easy, you know.”

 _Is that really it?_ Her unusually exasperated voice told him otherwise. “I’d find it exceptionally strange if ruling started to break you down right now when you are closer to the realisation of your dream than ever.”

It seemed like she tried very hard to hide the roll of her eyes, though Tyrion saw it all the same. “Then do tell me, please, what does the Lord Hand hold responsible for his queen’s sour mood?” _Well, I have a good guess or two,_ he furrowed his brows, _but I could never even imagine the whole picture._ Yes, he was her Hand, but there were times when he still felt like he could do nothing to make it easier for her.

He reached out and gently grasped her right hand. “The only thing I really know is that you have it rough. But whatever burdens you, we are here to have your back, my Queen.”

Yes, sometimes it was hard to serve her, sometimes he wondered what would’ve been had he decided to ignore Varys’ suggestions and searched for an easier life in the Free Cities, but these were nothing but fleeting thoughts. For he would serve her until he drew his last breath. He swore it when she chose to trust him, when she _chose him_ to be her Hand.

And she was not only a queen to him but a _true friend_ , something he cherished as he had his own share of pain and betrayal.

She let out a small laugh. “I see that I can always count on you,” she said while lifting her wine cup.

“Of course you can.” He looked around conspicuously, his eyes narrowed. “But you have yet to see my real powers.” At that, he pushed himself up from his seat and with a smirk, he hurried towards the corner of the room. There he lifted his hand and slowly waved it as if he debated which barrel he should choose. Finally, his fingers settled, hovering above the last but one.

“Oh, yes. This should be it.” He poured.

Daenerys curiously swirled the nectar he gave her. “What is this?”

“Try it.” It won’t make the dark circles disappear from under her eyes, but surely it can help.

The surprise was clear on her face when she tasted it, her lips forming an almost happy grin. _More than nothing._ “So delicious...”

“Sweet Red from Volantis. The exact opposite of the sour taste the Dornish wines usually have, I thought you might prefer it.”

“Then you know me well, my friend,” she tilted her head, seemingly delighted. “Although, we probably shouldn’t mention that to our friends.”

Tyrion followed her gaze until his eyes found the Sand Snakes in the back of his solar, playing some kind of a drinking game with the ironborn and the Dothraki. Judging by their not-so-low laughter and shouting, most of them were probably deep in the cups.

And just then, something seemed to go awry because one of the bloodriders grabbed a Greyjoy man by the collar and shoved him against the wall. _Maybe language differences._

 The queen let out a huffed sigh. “Like children, I swear. I’ll go stop them.” And with that, she was gone.

 _Children._ The dragons were her children, the former slaves viewed her so as well. Mhysa. Sometimes she genuinely acted like these people were the family she no longer had, and he often wondered if this was like some kind of compensation for her – and for _them_ –, that in this way she tried to fill the hole her dead son and supposed barrenness left in her heart. Maybe. Then again, probably nothing could replace the feeling of holding a child of your own blood in your arms, and deep inside she must have known that.

This just made everything sadder. And putting aside that this wounded greatly his queen, her inability to give birth brought up serious problems with the succession, an issue he should address soon. _If that witch was correct,_ he mused. _Well, we even have a possible candidate to prove her wrong._ It took everything in him to contain his grin as he thought of the King in the North Daenerys evidently grew quite fond of.

 _By the way, where are they?_ He told Ser Davos they should drop in for a drink, come the night, but they had been nowhere in sight so far. Tyrion noticed there was something off with Jon today, but he didn't think it would affect his mood so greatly that they’d deny the invitation of the queen’s Hand. _If they keep waiting then chances are all the wine will have been drunk when they show up._

He was not entirely right, though, since it was only two more emptied pitchers later that they finally appeared.

 

A lazy smile crept on his face as the heavy wooden door creaked, revealing the northern king and his advisor. “Here you are! I started to think that you wouldn’t come.” He felt a bit dizzy, but it was the right kind of dizziness, the one he missed so much in the last few days.

“Told ya we’ll be here,” said the former smuggler. Then probably the queen caught his attention because he looked at him questioningly. As always, Davos was fast to catch on to his little games. _But it’s not like he is not playing on these things too, he really shouldn’t be surprised._

***

“I think I will retire for the night.” _Ah._ Daenerys was clearly irritated, and he bit back a smile. He even felt a little bit guilty because he found her reaction amusing. _They are attracted to each other, but they are too stubborn to admit it, eh?_

“Good night, Your Grace.”

As she stepped out, he caught a glimpse of the annoyance on Jon’s face too. He tried to stand but Yara _– good thing I’m not the only one being drunk here –_ grasped his arm.

“C’mon, what’s the fun if both of you are gone? Don’t be a spoilsport, Snow.” She probably enjoyed herself no less than he did, but he wondered if she was taking her teasing too far. _Maybe a little salvage is needed._

“One last cup and everyone should go. The Unsullied set sail in the morrow, and a part of your ships too,” he tipped his head at Yara.

The woman laughed. “And here I thought we understood each other, Lannister. When you go off,” she took a large gulp of his drink, “this is just necessary. You can easily die out there, you know. This may be the last chance we have to get piss drunk. But as you wish,” she winked.

Jon huffed, looking like the caged wolf he was. _Speaking about wolves–_

“By the way, how’s your wolf, Jon? Ghost, was it?”

The question seemed to distract him from his irritation, because for a moment the wrinkles on his brow disappeared, and he gave him a smirk. “Yes, Ghost. He is well. And he is here.”

He almost choked on his wine. “What?”

“He hasn’t been around but I brought him on the island.”

“But you’ve been here for more than a _month._ Don’t you think you should've at least mentioned that you brought a _direwolf_?”

Yara chipped in sceptically, “A direwolf? I thought they were extinct on this side of the Wall.”

“Aye, but dragons were, too,” Jon leaned back in his chair. “My mind was quite occupied. I haven't thought of him much.”

“I find that strange. He used to be beside you all the time, didn't he?” _Like a white shadow._

“Nowadays not so much. He likes to go wild. To run. To hunt. But we have a very strong connection, so if I concentrate I can always tell where he is.” As if to prove his point, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He remained like that for a brief moment, then he suddenly shot up. “I should really go.” He drained his cup and with a bow of his head towards them, he strode out of the room.

All he could do was to share a dumbfounded look with Ser Davos.

 

The Queen

She groaned quietly as she all but ran out of Tyrion’s solar. _What is going on with me?_ Now everyone would be wondering why she left so abruptly... She just hoped that the drunken lot wouldn’t question it too much.  Retiring was nothing but a weak excuse to get out of there, after all. It’s not like she would be able to sleep. _Damn nightmares._

She chose a corridor that was usually used by servants. It was empty, her heels made the only sounds in the silence. Her advisors would have a fit if they knew she was wandering all alone, but she needed space right now, and a little fresh air to clear her head.

The wooden door creaked as she stepped out in the night. She drew a deep, calming breath, let the coolness of it fill her lungs, wash the fog away from her mind. _Maybe it was the wine,_ she mused. _Volantis is famous for its strong reds._

Yet Daenerys knew that was not it. She drank not nearly enough to make her feel _that way_ , which made it even more difficult to decipher what came over her in there.

In the last month, Jon became her friend and she was glad because of it. But it was unsettling too, since it didn't feel the way it did with Missandei or Tyrion. It felt... _Different. More._ The worst part was that this thing resembled nothing she knew, nothing she experienced. Her relationships – Jorah’s support, Daario’s lust, Drogo’s eventual kindness... None of those were comparable to _this_. This was entirely new to her.

And she was afraid, she realised. Like the child of the darkness, she was afraid of this unknown emotion built on respect and affection and so much more, this tension between them that grew day by day.

_I have no time for this._

_No time for what?_

She leaned against the cold stones of the wall and looked upon the stars. All tiny lanterns up there, they were so beautiful. And the moon, pale and graceful, illuminating what lies below, it coated everything in silver, the castle, the mountains, the shore, the forests...

It still didn't fail to fill her with wonder, the sight of this island, the place where she was born.

_No time for what?_

She felt exhausted.

Mother of Dragons. Breaker of Chains. Unburnt. Queen.

She was still a woman underneath, even if no one has really seen that side of her in a long, long time. _No time. For what?_

She wanted to help her people, to bring peace, to make their lives better. Most days she was confident that she will be able to do it, that not a soul will be able to stand in her way, yet sometimes doubt managed to creep under her skin. Sometimes she felt helpless, hopeless, struggling like a fish thrown out of the water.

Could she really win the war this way against Cersei? Without shedding the blood of innocents? She had to. That’s why she came. She had to find a way.

And what if the dead were coming too?

She had _no time_ to waste. She had to plan. She had to fight.

No time for the butterflies in her stomach that come alive when a rebel northern king steps in the room, no time for the warmness of her cheeks when he smiles, no time for the inexplicable rage that starts to burn deep in her chest when someone else touches him.

No time for the desire of chasing away the coldness that seems to be consuming his body.

 

She closed her eyes, the thoughts just swirled in her head, not giving a break. _I might have had too much wine, after all._ Suddenly, the tiredness – both physical and mental – started to feel overpowering. _Maybe I should seek my bed instead of sitting here._

But there, behind the closed door of her chambers, they would come. The blue-eyed monsters that haunted her dreams ever since Jon stepped in her Throne Room oh so long time ago, they would come to make her miserable and all teary again, to deprive her of that little rest she needed so desperately.

She shuddered.

She had hoped this idea of Tyrion would work, a peaceful night with drinks and chatter to help them rest – Gods know she needed it with those black circles under her eyes. But a little fooling-around from Yara was enough to chase her away. She chuckled humourlessly.

She knew Jon, it was written all over his face that it was the last place where he wanted to be, yet she couldn’t help it. Good to know she had such a childish side.

Suddenly, something like a faint hot breeze touched her face, then a cold, wet thing poked her left cheek.

Her eyelids shot up, only to find two big red irises staring at her.

Her lips parted in a silent scream but no voice came out, just a barely audible gasp when the thing stepped back.

She had never seen anything comparable. It was a wolf with the size of a small horse, white as snow but his eyes, eyes that were shining with a vivid, crimson light, eyes that felt like they were seeing right through her. It was gorgeous. And it felt oddly familiar, like they’ve met before. The whole encounter was strange, yet the strangest thing was that besides the initial shock, she felt no fear, no worry that it might do something to her. _He means no harm, does he?_

Daenerys slowly raised her hand, and the creature sniffed at it, then came slightly closer, its head in line with her chest. She buried her fingers in the white fur, mouth still agape in awe. The feeling of familiarity strengthened, and a small laugh escaped her lips when the wolf licked her face.

“Your Grace!” she heard someone shout, a voice that caused to feel like she was genuinely drunk, dizzy and excited. She turned to address the person, hands dropping to her sides.

“Jon.” Suddenly, she understood why she felt so easy around the wolf. _Of course._

“Your Grace– He–”

“Oh? Is this pretty fellow His Grace’s friend?” She chuckled, _His Grace looks pretty too._ He seemed a bit flushed, like he was running to get here, a few strands of his hair escaped from their usual bun. _By the way, how did he know I was here? Did he know at all?_ It didn't matter, though.

She tried to hide her amusement at his dumbstruck expression so she moved her face to meet the red eyes again, all her earlier confusion and inner turmoil gone.

“He is. How did you know?”

“I have no idea? You two just look so... alike.” At his raised eyebrow she laughed out, shaking her head. “I didn't mean the colouring part. It’s rather a matter of presence. Like he belongs with you.”

The King in the North smiled. “He does.” He moved closer and reached out to pet his companion behind the ears. “His name is Ghost. I found him when he was just a pup.”

She furrowed her brows, but before she could reply, the said not-so-pup-anymore raised his head, blinked a few times at Jon then took a few steps next to the wall and looked back at them.

Jon seemed a bit taken aback. “Ghost?” The wolf only stared at them and eventually went a bit farther.

“I think he might want us to follow.” mused Daenerys.

“Aye, he does want that.” _He can tell?_ “I don’t know why, though, I don’t understand.”

He looked at her questioningly.

She shrugged. “We can go, I guess.” _Uh-oh._ If Tyrion knew... But she was safe with Jon.

As they started going, Ghost let out a whine that somehow quite felt like a ‘finally’ to her, and took off in the dark, occasionally stopping for them not to lose sight of him.

“So...” As much as she was already fond of this creature that had appeared next to her silently like his namesake, she still couldn’t overlook the fact that she had absolutely no idea that he was on the island. Also, a tiny part of her was feeling a bit disappointed that during their many conversations Jon failed to mention this amazing part of his life. “Don't you think that I should've known your friend was accompanying us in my home?”

He winced. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, I–”

“Besides, you shouldn’t call me so formally anymore.” A wave of newfound annoyance she hadn’t seen coming washed over her. “I thought we were friends.”

“Ah.” To his credit, he looked sheepish at least. “I’m sorry... Daenerys.”

Hearing her name for the first time from his mouth, in his heavy yet beautiful northern accent made interesting things to her– her skin prickled, and a pleasant warmth bubbled up in her chest, flooding her entire body. It proved to be damn hard to stay upset when he was with her.

“It has always been in the back of my mind, but I think I was so used to his presence _there_ that I forgot to tell you.”

“You mean, his presence... in your mind?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but–”

“Go on, go on, I’ve never heard anything crazy from you so it will probably surprise me.”

He laughed, and the sound sent happy flutters down her spine. “You’ve got a point there.” He then continued, more serious. “Yes, he is always in there, in my mind.” He glanced at her. “We, I and Ghost, share a very special bond. We are connected in a way I could never comprehend, nor do I want to, to be honest. He’s been at my side ever since I met him, and now he is like a part of me. Usually, I can even feel what he thinks, albeit only vaguely.”

“And now?”

“He seems too excited for that. I wonder what makes him act so.” They’ve left the castle now, going through a small field, presumably towards the forest that lay on the other side. “He ran off when we docked, and I haven't seen him since.”

“But that was over a month ago! What did he do all this time?”

“Will find it out soon enough, probably.” He touched his chin with his right – his scarred hand, she remembered – as if contemplating something. “Many times I felt like there was a thing he was searching for. Like he was following a familiar scent, although that is not possible, is it?”

She frowned, “I don’t think so.”

 

They walked in silence for a while, until Daenerys found this doubtful and confused quiet uncomfortable enough to break it.

“So, you started to tell me how you found him.”

“Are you curious?”

“Pretty much. I mean, he is a–”

“Aye, he is a direwolf. We were out in the forest when we found a dead female in the snow. It was surprising ‘cause no one’s seen a direwolf on this side of the wall in more than a hundred years, and even more so because there were five pups beside her, living and healthy.” A wistful smile made his lips curl. “Five, one for every Stark child.” _So there’re more of them._ “Ghost was the runt of the litter, he lay a few steps away from the rest. I knew he was for me the moment I saw him.”

“Where are his siblings now?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, and she knew it was a mistake as his countenance darkened. He sighed and stopped, his eyes upon the sky but unfocused, like he didn't even see anything.

“Sansa told me hers was the first one to go. Cersei wanted Lady dead because Arya’s wolf had bitten Joffrey before it ran away. Grey Wind probably died with Robb,” here he shut his eyes, and it was like she got stabbed in the chest, his pain so pure and clear that it almost physically hurt _her_ , “and Ramsay gave me Shaggydog’s head before the battle of Winterfell. He was Rickon’s.”

His words contained so much anguish, she couldn’t contain herself. She stepped forward and intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently. “It was not your fault, Jon.”

“It was. He... He collapsed before my eyes... The arrow... I... I should've been faster. ” He was stuttering now, tears he must have been holding in for ages escaping from his eyes. He shook his head with a closed mouth. “He was my little brother and I couldn’t protect him.”

She threw her arms around him then, hugging him firmly, embracing all of him, his agony, his suffering, his unbearable self-blame, and he held on to her for dear life, like she was the last straw that kept him from falling down and never coming back.

“I let them all down.” His voice was hoarse and raw from the crying. “My sisters, Bran, Rickon and Robb– I went to the Wall to make something of myself and I left them to their fates when I could’ve helped. I should've gone with Robb to aid him when he needed the most. I should've fought beside him, I should've died for him. He should be the one here, not me.”

Her heart clenched, _no,_ she wanted to say, to scream, _no. I need you._

“But if you hadn’t gone to the Wall no one would know what is coming for us.” She stepped back and cupped his head in her hands to make him look at her. “You might not have been able to save them, but you are here now, here to save everyone.” She smiled. “You can fight for Sansa, Jon. You can fight for Bran and Arya, wherever they are.” _You can fight for me._ “You are so much more than you think.”

At that moment, she believed everything he told her about, truthfully and genuinely. She believed him all along, she realised. She held both his hands in her own and met him in the eyes, their faces inches apart.

“I’ll defeat Cersei and unite Westeros. Then I’ll take every capable soldier and march North with you.” His eyes widened, sad, warm, beautiful and _grey_ , and she swore that she wouldn’t see them have any other colour. “We will defeat the Night King and his Army, Jon Snow, King in the North. We, together.”

How could she not trust him when he looked at her like _that_?

He hugged her then, his arms closing around her for the second time, and she felt like this is the place where she could feel like she was home. She felt whole, protected, and she hoped against all odds that he would stay beside her forever, that the small, nagging voice in her head wouldn’t be right. That _after_ defeating Cersei wouldn’t be too late.

She didn't know how long they remained there like that, maybe moments, maybe minutes, until a great, fluffy body forcing his way between their chests made them break apart.

“Ghost!” she exclaimed, laughing.

“Oh, right. We are coming, boy, don’t be so impatient.”

Jon raised a hand and quickly wiped at the corner of his eyes. The tears seemingly embarrassed him. Daenerys smiled. She understood what happened, it was hard for him, to have his carefully-built walls collapse around them, leaving him small and vulnerable.

“Let’s go then,” she said, and took his lowered hand.

And they went after Ghost, hand in hand as the moon cast its shimmering silver light on them.

“He looks like a real ghost,” she whispered, “Don't you think?”

He chuckled. “Two monarchs followin’ a ghost in the night. Someone should write a song ‘bout this.”

“That would be one splendid song, I’m sure.”

“I had been a ghost once, too.” He grinned at her confused expression. “Robb just had his twelfth nameday a few days back, and we were down in the crypts below Winterfell, talking about...” his voice sounded only a bit more hollow when he mentioned his brother, but she could still feel the sting of pain it caused to him. He must have loved him dearly. “Well, I don’t remember. But that place can be quite scary and it gave the creeps to me more than once. I told Robb that I wouldn’t be surprised if the ghosts of the ancient Stark kings would start to walk out of the walls.”

He shook his head in amusement. “ _Of course_ , he would immediately get a good idea. _‘This will be fun, Jon’_ , he said.”

They were nearing the side of the forest, Ghost’s ruby eyes shining between the trees as he turned back to wait for them.

“He took Arya, Sansa and Bran down in the crypts. It was Arya and Bran’s first time there, actually. He led them all the way down to the end, past our grandfather, uncle and aunt to show them their own tombs.”

 _Uh... That doesn’t sound good._ “How old were they?”

“Hm. I think Bran was no more than four, Arya about seven. Sansa nine, she had already visited the statues with father sometimes, yet she was the one being the most afraid.” He laughed, a sight so mesmerising that it almost erased the uneasiness resting in the pit of her stomach. “Or, well...”

He held a branch out of the way so that she could pass easily. “She was the one who showed it the most, though Arya was probably shaking too, I imagine, even if she tried to play tough. Robb told me Sansa kept saying that they shouldn’t do this without father and that the Kings of Winter would haunt them until the rest of their days if they disturbed them unnecessarily.”

Somehow, this story was _so_ familiar. Like she had already heard it somewhere, but she couldn’t recall were. Yet that was just not possible.

“Your brother was enjoying himself, wasn't he?” she smiled. Jon has always spoken so fondly about his siblings, especially Robb and Arya.

Robb Stark... The oldest Stark son. He was Jon’s best friend while growing up, she could hear it from his words. Suddenly she felt a pang at her heart at the loss. _I will never get to know him._ Neither Robb nor Rickon, probably not even Bran and Arya whom they didn't know if they were still alive.

“Aye, that he was. He answered Sansa that maybe she is not wrong. ‘ _There are worse things here than spiders and rats. This is where the dead walk.’_ he whispered, I remember. That, I could already hear, because–”

_‘That was when we heard the sound, low and deep and shiver,’ said Nymeria as they sat in her cabin, enjoying a little watered wine. ‘My baby brother had clutched at my hand, he was so afraid.” The girl laughed loudly. “Oh, Gods! It was all dark and scary, and we had only one candle with us. And then a spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, and Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs while Bran wrapped himself around our big brother’s leg, sobbing.”_

“You could hear it because you were hiding in the tomb, covered with flour so that they would think you a ghost.” The words came out in a rush, without thinking. _Idiot. It cannot be the same, that’s surely not–_

“How?” Jon asked, bewildered. “How did you know?”

_No. Yes?_

She looked at him, eyes wide as the almost full moon above them. “I didn't think it was the same, but... I think I have already heard this story. From someone else.”

“What?” It was hard to tell who was more confused.

“Do you know anyone who’s called Nymeria?”

His reply was not immediate. “...Nymeria? Aye, I do. That’s the name of Arya’s direwolf.”

Daenerys looked at him like it was the first time she laid eyes on his face. She stepped closer, staring into his eyes. _It can’t be._

The same kind, deep, grey eyes. Long, beautiful face. Dark hair cut similarly, _‘It’s how my father wore it,_ ’ Nym would tell her. And the same damn northern accent. How did she not notice it before? It was so, so obvious now that she looked back, and she cursed her ignorance.

She had always been talking about her bastard brother, the one she loved the most, who understood her the most, who accepted her as she was.

_Is there anywhere a brother better than you, Jon Snow?_

She smiled. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes, knowing the joy he will feel when she tells him. He told her so many times beside the dining table, how he missed his baby sister, how he worried for her, how he dreaded that his hopes of Arya being alive somewhere would be crushed the moment he got news about her.

She smiled, the inexplicable and overpowering happiness filling her heart, she felt like she could burst in any moment.

“Jon... I think I met your sister.”

She smiled and tried to ignore the throbbing ache in her chest which just refused to go away, growing stronger with every heartbeat. _The bonds of family are the most precious._ Something she would never have.

 

The king

 

Arya was alive. He couldn’t believe it. Arya was _actually_ alive. Not _maybe_ , not _assuming,_ not _considering_ _that she hadn’t been seen in King’s Landing_. No, she was alive and well, and she travelled on the very same ship as Daenerys almost two moons ago.

First Sansa, now Arya. His sisters were back, after all that suffering and despair, they finally got home. The happiness shimmering in his heart was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in ages. _Is this a dream? Will I wake up to see that all this was only a lie?_

“I’m happy for you,” she said.

He turned to Daenerys, to _Dany,_ as he sometimes called her in his head, and at that moment he wanted nothing more but to kiss those rosy lips, to share it with her, this feeling of sheer bliss that claimed his whole being.

It was hard to restrain himself, although it became much easier when he looked at her face. Yes, there was joy in her teary eyes, sincere and beautiful, but there was sadness as well, a sorrow she tried to conceal, something he wouldn’t be fooled with.

He knew that it was right for him to be glad now, yet it felt so wrong when he saw that longing melancholy in her. _Her entire family is dead. She is the last._ Did she feel lonely? Those violet orbs had lost their light, like she had been emptied inside and she was now only standing there like a shell.

Jon didn't know what to do. He wanted to comfort her like she did to him a little earlier, to hug her and be the shield she needed against the pain of the past.

Instead, he only took her hand again, an act they had both grew so familiar with. It always surprised him how hot her hands were, sending their warmth through his frozen veins.

“Thank you,” he said and tried to make eye contact, but she kept staring behind him with that smile on her face that made his insides clench. “Daenerys, look at me.”

“Just... Let us go, alright?”

“It’s not alright. _You_ are not alright.”

She shook her head and squeezed his hands before letting it go. “We’ve been here for hours now. The sun will rise soon and my advisors will panic if I’m not back. Assuming, of course, that Missandei hasn’t alerted Tyrion I didn't go back to my chambers, because then half the castle is searching for us already.”

“Everything’s too quiet for that.”

“Luckily. But it doesn’t mean we have all the time we need. Come on,” she whispered the last two words and without looking back to make sure he was following she left after Ghost.

He cursed how useless he was. How could he fight with the dead if he couldn’t even utter a few words of comfort for the people important to him? Because she _was_ important to him. She was a breath of fresh air between all his failures, desperation and self-depreciation, and he wanted to hold onto her with everything he had... Only now she was slipping away, closing herself up again behind that thick, invisible wall of hers he was all too familiar with.

He let out a defeated sigh and set out after her.

 

***

 

Daenerys’ eyes widened in silent wonder. “Is this...?”

“It’s a weirwood tree,” nodded Jon, equally awed.

“I didn't know there was one on Dragonstone. My family served no Gods.”

“Well,” he took a few steps closer so that he could reach out and feel the hard, white body of the ancient tree, “It seems they left this here.”

“You think they forgot it?”

“Or maybe it had been overlooked of. It’s quite deep in the forest.” He turned his head to Ghost, “Is this what you were looking for, boy?” _No._ A glance into his clever companion’s eyes was enough for him to know the answer. “There’s more.”

They made their way to the other side of the trunk, and Jon frowned. There was a large hole dug in the ground, presumably the direwolf’s doing. _I’ve never known Ghost to do something like this._ Did direwolves even dig? Did _any_ wolf do that?

“Why have you done this?” he muttered while approaching the place.

He sank to his knees and peered down. “There’s a chest down there!” he exclaimed, and he was already jumping in to hoist the thing up. It was heavy but not as much as he assumed it would be so he could easily lift it.

Once out, Daenerys and he crouched next to it and get rid of the mud and dust covering the surface of the wood.

“That’s the Targaryen sigil,” the queen gasped, touching the carved iron that kept the box locked. “It belongs to my family.”

It took an effort to pry open the bolt, but after a few minutes of hard labour had it slide back. Daenerys pulled its content out, something wrapped in linen, long and thin with a cross at the end.

Jon’s eyes widened in recognition. “A sword.” And it was not hard to figure out _which_ sword, especially when the fabric finally fell.

“This... This is beautiful.” She frowned. “But how had Ghost found it? It couldn’t just be a spontaneous thought of his to come here and see if there’s anything interesting hidden underground.”

His frown matched her own as he held out his hands to take the blade. “No, it was not incidental,” Jon said as he inspected the weapon from close, drawing his fingers along the distinctive rippled pattern on the surface, “and this is no ordinary sword.”

At her questioning expression, he continued. “It’s made of Valyrian Steel. And not only that.” He showed her the hilt, a little dragon with clever, ruby eyes just under the pommel, almost unnoticeable. “It’s a Targaryen longsword, but it’s an unusual shape. More slender, like... I think It may have been forged for a woman warrior.”

Her breath caught. “Visenya.”

“Aye. If I’m right,” he looked at her but her gaze was fixed on this treasure they just found, “then this sword is Dark Sister. One of your ancestral swords.” He held it out for her to take, and their fingers touched as she did.

“Dark Sister... I can't believe it. After all those years it was missing... Was it here all along?”

“That, I cannot know,” he answered. “Maybe yes, maybe no. The only thing that matters is that it’s yours now.” He smiled at her. “May it serve you well, Your Grace. And your children after you.”

He expected her to gleam with pride, to stand with a straight back and say something imperious like the fierce dragon queen she was.

He should've known better. He should've known that there was this dark truth, this vicious thorn in her gentle yet strong heart that in the solitude of the forest with only him and Ghost as companions would not let her embrace this miraculous discovery with triumph.

Her shoulders slumped and she laughed quietly, the tears she probably held in for at least as long as he did now running free on her face.

“Then I wonder who will wield this sword, you know.” She met his eyes at last, and she shook her head. “The dragons are the only children I’ll ever have. Do you understand?” His eyes widened. Her trembling voice held so much pain that it left him breathless with an ache he has never known before blooming in his chest. “I’ve always been alone and I’ll always be.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, Comments and Bookmarks, as well as constructive criticism are always very much appreciated! I live for your feedback, seriously :)
> 
> Also, I still need a beta, preferably English speaker, so if you have a little free time and feel like you would like to help me, please leave a comment or write on tumblr :) you can find me as @opensky7 (It's really not much work, I promise!! The working process of this fic is awfully slow, uh)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it :) if you did, please leave a comment, if not, let me know that too. :) Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Also, I'd be grateful if someone could help me and be my beta-reader. (It's not much work, really, I write slowly! :D Oh wait, I shouldn't be so proud of that. Whatever.) Please? :)


End file.
